248 HAPPY HUNTING-GROUNDS 



the stream as far as my boundary, but the rod may 

 be left behind for the time being, as my old spaniel 

 Ben expects his morning outing, and hates the sight 

 of a fishing-rod now that his mature years and rheu- 

 matism make the pursuit of rats in the backwater and 

 ditches a " fearful joy." To please him I shoulder my 

 gun and pocket half a dozen cartridges, and as soon 

 as he sees the weapon he begins to gambol about like 

 a puppy, in spite of his sixteen years ; for no amount 

 of experience has convinced him of the extreme im- 

 probability of his having anything to pick up. The 

 jackdaws have learnt caution, the rats will not be 

 about so early, and it is only very occasionally that a 

 casual wood-pigeon passes within range. Off we start 

 together down the stream, I keeping my eyes open to 

 see whether there is any fly on the water ; for in the 

 improbable event of an early rise it will only be the 

 work of a few moments to return for my rod which is 

 always in readiness by the terrace-door a ten-foot 

 split cane, made in one piece, as is best for rods which 

 are not required to be carried off the premises by road 

 or rail. Through the garden we stroll, past the old 

 mulberry- tree ; then, leaving the kitchen-garden on 

 the left, we skirt the boathouse where the canoe is 

 kept, and soon come to the meeting of the waters, 

 where the main stream joins the mill-lead just below 

 a little artificial fall, constructed in 1911 to deepen 

 and slacken the stream above. It has been a great 

 success on the whole. At first our domestic engineer- 

 ing was a failure, as the weight of water undermined 

 the sleepers and piles, and the whole structure 

 threatened to give way ; but the difficulty was over- 

 come by a mantlet of boards nailed on horizontally, 



