202 HAPPY HUNTING-GROUNDS 



Soon I was ready for an al fresco tea, and my hand 

 mechanically sought my pocket for the sandwich and 

 a small bottle of whisky and milk with which I had 

 furnished myself at starting. The cork had come out, 

 the contents had flooded my pocket, and reduced my 

 sandwich to a pulp ! ! This was the climax, and I made 

 my way home in a chastened spirit. When I reached 

 the house I had not been delighted as on the previous 

 evening with any beautiful lights and reflections ; the 

 whole landscape was obliterated. 



" The white mist, like a face-cloth to the face 

 Clung to the dead earth." 



I note my little misfortunes only by way of con- 

 trast, for I should indeed be churlish and ungrateful if 

 I grumbled at the weather which favoured us during 

 the remainder of my stay. There was some mist from 

 time to time, but only enough to break the outlines of 

 the cliffs, or cling to the little hollows. It was rather 

 bright for fishing, and the breeze generally died away 

 altogether in the evenings, and made it almost im- 

 possible to rise the great trout we saw breaking the 

 still water. But I did enough for pleasure, if not for 

 glory. Next day I got thirty-five good trout, and 

 had two hours of exceptionally good sport fishing off 

 the dam which divided the lake from the river. The 

 water was shallow, but the breeze just caught it 

 properly, and nearly every cast produced a rise, 

 although less than a tithe of the fish were hooked, as 

 very naturally they came short in the clear shallow 

 water, taking warning from something they saw before 

 they actually got hold of the fly. 



Of course I always kept my eyes open for other 



