262 SOMERSETSHIRE COOMBS 



water, we do our best to imitate the mechanical swing 

 and cast of the practised hands, until the pails strike the 

 bottom, and only a few gallons remain. Then, as we 

 grope in among the rocks and stones, the water seems 

 alive with fish, and the excitement grows. Half-a- 

 dozen pairs of hands are busy feeling among the slippery 

 roots and hovers, and shouts of laughter rise, as the 

 nimble trout spring from the grasping fingers, or are 

 held and carried full speed across the brambles and 

 under-growth to the tub. Nothing could exceed the 

 beauty of these small brook-trout, streaked with yellow, 

 olive, and silver, and studded with vermilion spots, and 

 showing their contempt for the temporary discomfort of 

 their capture by a violent jump and fling of their tail 

 as they drop from the hands of their muddy captor into 

 the clean water of the tub. But the trout, though the 

 main object of the foray, are not the only denizens of 

 the pool. Eels and lampreys and the odd little 

 " miller's thumbs " abound, and the pursuit of the eels 

 is an endless source of laughter and mishap. A big 

 yellow eel slips through half-a-dozen pairs of hands, 

 writhing round and under rocks, in and out of the 

 tree-roots from which the water has worn the soil, and 

 back into the deepest hole left in the pool. " Drat 

 he ! " exclaims an old labourer, looking at his bruised 

 knuckles, " he be so nimble as a little pig," citing 

 appropriately the most difficult creature to catch next 

 to an eel in his experience. But at last the trout and 

 eels are all caught, and nothing left in the pool but the 

 " miller's thumbs," or " bull-heads," and certain tiny 



