THE KEEPER'S COTTAGE 13 



hooked and lost many a fine trout, and we 

 bagged some, but not what we should have done 

 but for these sudden small gales and squalls. 

 We had, however, a very pleasant time of it, and 

 it was a day to dwell in our memories. 



About five o'clock we reached a keeper's cot- 

 tage, hidden away in the woods, apparently 

 miles away from any other habitation. It is a 

 dwelling which has done its duty for many and 

 many a generation of keepers, and is now in a 

 dilapidated and crumbling condition, and is 

 distinctly not a creditable residence for respect- 

 able people, but here we found a welcome place 

 of rest after our many hours of toil. The 

 keeper's wife, a very pleasant and kindly hostess, 

 made a fire, boiled her kettle, and soon gave us 

 a most welcome cup of tea and home-made 

 bread and butter for which we were not a little 

 grateful. Her son, Ernest, a bright boy of twelve, 

 knows every fish in the river, and took us up to 

 the spots were the big fish lie. In one of these 

 pools I hooked and landed a one-pound trout, 

 and we were just beginning to have some grand 

 sport when, alas ! we were warned by the arrival 

 of our trap that time was up. We had four miles 

 to drive to catch our train, and so we must pack 

 up and be off. Then the wind sank, the Grey 

 Drake began to flutter up in shoals, and the 

 trout began to taste them, one would think, for 

 the first time. It was aggravating to see them 



