256 THE CURVED MEADOW. 



and were far too wide awake to accept any 

 downstream cast at this time of day. Crawling 

 to the lower end of the rushes, I thought for 

 some time I would avoid treading in the mud; 

 as, having on ordinary nailed boots, I shirked 

 the ordeal of wet feet. That bogey however 

 soon disappeared, and the cool trickle inside first 

 one boot and then the other, followed by a 

 warm glow as the water changed to tepid 

 round thick lambswool socks, made me indepen- 

 dent of soft places for the rest of the evening. 



The first pronounced rise of a feeding trout 

 in such an ambuscade is very exciting. I could 

 more hear than see it clearly, as the rushes were 

 high, and I did not want to give anything 

 away. It came again, and a third time, before 

 the olive was placed somewhere near it. Nothing 

 happened for a few casts, beyond that the fish 

 was put down. For a long five minutes not a 

 ring occurred, excepting from my two friends 

 far below me, at which I felt tempted to make 

 a long downstream sweep. 



I moved very slowly a shade higher up, 

 where I heard another promising ploop in mid 

 stream. He rose again. I could see him take 

 a fly : and the next moment he took mine. 

 After a disturbing spring and splash he made 

 for the opposite side, just where peace and quiet- 

 ness ought to reign; so he was given a tight 

 line, pulled into the current, until he ran close 

 in to the rushes, got the cast round one, and 

 kicked and splashed on the surface. I managed 

 to slide him over the rim of the net, but had 



