THE WATER OF THE MOORS 177 



camp-kettle that we filled with water is full of great 

 pearls, which even become diamonds as they sway and 

 break, flattening and sparkling with almost coloured 

 fire as they dance upward and vanish from their 

 aqueous prison. Don't tell us that the boiling 

 undoes all the tumbling of the trout stream. We 

 have seen those pearls, and by so much the more 

 relish our tea beyond that infused from the spray of a 

 leaden pipe. 



The trout, if not the best of all fish, is in every 

 way far superior to those that inhabit even the swift- 

 flowing, deeper, and less joyous waters. They are 

 " coarse fish," while our trout are game game by 

 virtue of their better table qualities, and game in their 

 love of life and the determination with which they 

 fight for it. The better the water, the better the fish. 

 How does John Ridd (in whose stream we will fish 

 after breakfast) dwell on the delicacy of pickled loaches? 

 We have not tasted them, but we are ready to believe 

 that these tiny fish are excellent. They belong to the 

 joyous stream. It brings them abundant oxygen even 

 beneath the stones which they are bound to use as 

 protection from the trout. When we turn them out, 

 delicate. and bearded, they remain a while almost in- 

 visible by their similarity to the bed of the stream, 

 then dart to shelter of another stone. Here, also, 

 are the game little bull-heads, capable of choking 

 the grebe or kingfisher that should dare to swallow 

 them, and worthy of a chapter all to themselves. 



The insect life of our trout stream is beyond that 



of all the moors and all the forests through which it 



flows. Nine out of ten of all the dancing myriads of 



flies own the water as their birthplace. The stones 



12 



