258 THE CURVED MEADOW. 



over the spot : then a foot lower down was taken 

 well, whether by my riser or another below, I 

 cannot say. Not a sign was made and I could 

 not remember whether I had struck him at all. 



Something was * on,' and that something 

 heavy, quiet, and uneasy. Getting the line in, 

 I moved quickly downstream before attempting 

 to feel the fish's pulse. He had not weeded 

 me, and the vibration of the line showed that 

 it was round no obstruction. For perhaps a 

 minute nothing happened. Then, up he came, 

 showed himself to be a real pounder, and began 

 a series of desperate tugs that looked as though 

 he had seen a friendly root to make for. Both 

 hook and gut held : he was in midstream, losing 

 ground at each struggle. Not until he had 

 been worked into the shallow water below the 

 rushes could he be netted; a solid lumper, one 

 pound one ounce, with the fly scarcely barb 

 deep in the horny roof of his mouth. 



Here was a prize that made me thirst for 

 more; but I wonder whether other anglers suffer 

 from the same disturbing want of resolution. 

 Much as I wanted to move up, I had to linger 

 and see whether there was a dimple to be 

 imagined under the sloes. 



Where the water became shallower the evening 

 rise was in full play; so pushing up to the end 

 of the rushes I took stand under the high bank. 

 It had then always been given me as an axiom, 

 that when trout are rising in the stickles they 

 mean taking; so acting on this, presumptuously, 

 I began throwing for fish after fish, and found 



