THE CURVED MEADOW. 261 



another by striking too soon, and caught two 

 more of nine, and ten ounces, after a great 

 deal of cautious stalking. 



And then at half past nine the rise suddenly 

 stopped. As the light was failing, and the 

 trout had been laid on the grass in different 

 places, I thought I would collect them before 

 having a final try downstream during the later 

 rise, which usually occurs from 9.45 to ten 

 o'clock. I found all but one, which a rat or 

 a heron must have made off with. A slight 

 white mist crawled over the upper part of the 

 meadow, making it look like the edge of things, 

 and brought with it a sense of nervousness, so 

 that I did not go up across the grass but came 

 back to the rushes and made casts over them at 

 hazard. 



As I knew I must put down the rod, before 

 leaving and going through the copse, I voted 

 just another dozen casts, and after making a 

 few of them found my fly in something heavy. 

 Getting a short line and feeling it boring slowly 

 down stream, I followed quietly until there 

 seemed the risk of the fish getting under the 

 beech roots. Putting on a strain it came 

 slowly up, then gave a dull pull, and again 

 made for the bottom. The water was specially 

 dark and deep. Nothing I could manage 

 effected any good. How the gut held, and 

 why the fish did not kick, was so strange that 

 I peered close to the water, and at last made 

 out the fly tight into a long floating branch or 

 bramble, which had a way of turning over in 



