THE CURVED MEADOW. 255 



hours later in the dark a little less risky, I 

 bent back several nut branches so that the 

 underside of the leaves showed up whiter, as 

 well as hitching two pieces of paper upon them, 

 to give a clue out of the labyrinth. 



My first two visits had been very unfortunate; 

 but then I had, as advised, fished the water 

 * down ' on each occasion, and had also lost 

 four good fish in succession, by the stupidity 

 of continuing to cast with a barbless fly. This 

 evening however, while climbing the hawthorn 

 fence, the plan of campaign was different, and 

 more deviceful. I had at least learned not to 

 hurry; so sat down and contemplated the water 

 until the shadow on the hill opposite crept right 

 up the stems of the larch trees on the eastern 

 sky line. 



In the opening glide below the rushes two 

 fish rose in a tempting manner, and the 

 detached olive seemed as good as anything that 

 could be offered to them. To get below them 

 was practically impossible, as the overhanging 

 branches threatened to catch the fly at every 

 attempt to get out more line. To throw a foot 

 or so below them was easy, but the very first 

 try to put it above their noses fastened the fly 

 round a beech leaf, and obliged me to stand 

 up and unhitch it. The gut was weakened so 

 was changed for a new point and fly. 



I determined to leave this couple alone, 

 thankful that they continued to rise, instead of 

 running up and spreading the alarm. They 

 knew all about the casting distance from below, 



