276 THE ROLL OF THE SEASONS 



a little wading, we shall see. The first step in the 

 cool water (the first step that costs) removes the 

 years wonderfully. The fingers itch for the stones 

 instinctively, and, before we know what we are doing, 

 we have got a grip beneath one of them, and it 

 begins to come up gently, gently, while the stream 

 carries away the little bits of brown stick that have 

 lodged there. The stone is over, and there are a 

 whole lot of shrimp-like creatures lying on their sides 

 and helplessly kicking. Yes, of course, we should 

 have expected water-lice even in a barren stream. It 

 is a quaint definition of barren, and it is a fact that a 

 neighbour came here and caught a few pints of these 

 water-lice wherewith to stock a stream of his that 

 lacked them. He could not keep trout until he had 

 established the " shrimps," and after them the trout 

 came almost spontaneously. Neither are these all 

 " shrimps," for a may-fly larva slides away down the 

 stone into the water, the cases of caddis-grubs are 

 among the little sticks that the stream carries away, 

 and a grub like a fringed worm hastens to cover itself 

 with a little stone beneath the one we have lifted. 



We expected more than water-lice, but there are 

 better stones to be lifted. A large one near the lower 

 end of the pool is scarcely touched before a flat, 

 spotted head shoots out. Because it moved we saw 

 it, but the spots are so artfully toned that, while at 

 rest, the fish is almost invisible among the similar 

 markings of the floor of the brook. Secure in its 

 livery, the fish suffers itself to be driven into the open, 

 and then we cautiously surround him with two hands 

 and scoop him out. You never see the miller's-thumb 

 without going into the water after it, and driving it 



