40 BY MEADOW AND STREAM. 



At another time I was reclining under the friendly 

 shelter of a wide-spreading sycamore, which pro- 

 tected me from the scorching rays of the midday sun ; 

 lying quite motionless, I heard a little rustle in the 

 hedgerow behind me. Presently out trotted three 

 stoats, two old ones and a young one. They were in 

 a quite playful mood, chasing each other about ; two 

 of them ran over my legs, mistaking them, no doubt, 

 for the tree's roots. I was anxious to keep quiet, but 

 I must have made some slight move, perhaps winked 

 my eye, for they were off like a shot before I could 

 wink again. Hitherto I had always looked upon 

 these creatures as the most bloodthirsty little wretches 

 in existence, and had rarely seen them but in pursuit 

 or riding on the back and gorging the blood of a 

 rabbit. I had never thought of them as capable of 

 fun and amusement. 



These are the little incidents, and such as these, 

 commonplace enough, doubtless, that give zest to my 

 amateur angling and country rambling. It is not 

 alone to catch fish that I go a-fishing. 



My last day's fishing in July was not so bad. I 

 hooked many good fish, but only two brace came to 

 grass ; the reason of my failure was that the river was 

 chock full of weeds, which, owing to the warmth of 

 the water, were unusually prolific. The fish, and I 

 had hold of some big ones, almost invariably broke 

 loose in these weeds. Added to this growth in the 

 water was the fact that they had just been cutting 

 above, and we had the full benefit of the floating 

 weeds. To add to our discomfort some confounded 

 gardener up yonder had this morning been mowing a 



