230 LOVE AND ANGLING. 



churchyard is again a coursing ground and 

 hunting field for the twittering martens who 

 are already hawking for flies across the tiny 

 barrow, on which the fresh sods have been laid 

 like a blanket. 



Kate has gone on before me some distance 

 down the brown dusty road. She cares for 

 none of these things, and is humming a gay 

 tune, while she sticks her rod into a tree 

 covered with yellow flowers, in order to make 

 the roaring bees in it roar louder. 



" You will be stung, if you don't mind 

 there!" 



A fat irascible honey-maker drops cleverly 

 on the exposed part of her wrist, and after he 

 has taken summary vengeance for the dis- 

 turbance to which he and his friends have 

 been wantonly subjected, he tumbles on the 

 ground. 



The edge of the Wimple furnishes me with 

 an herbalistic remedy for the sting. We are 

 reminded by the river that we ought not to 

 give over the trout-fishing. Besides, we must 

 not pull up until we have paid a visit to a part 

 of the stream to which we have given the name 



