A BORDER BOYHOOD 37 



make. The companions of those times arc scattered, 

 and live under strange stars and in converse sea 

 sons, by troutless waters. It is no longer the height 

 of pleasure to be half- drowned in Tweed, or lost 

 on the hills with no luncheon in the basket. But, 

 except for scarcity of fish, the scene is very little 

 altered, and one is a boy again, in heart, beneath 

 the elms of Yair, or by the Gullets at Ashiesteil. 

 However bad the sport, it keeps you young, or 

 makes you young again, and you need not follow 

 Ponce de Leon to the western wilderness, when, in 

 any river you knew of yore, you can find the 

 Fountain of Youth. 





THE GLEODIS WEIL 



