SOME WILTSHIRE MEMORIES 



glass stretch. This struck me as a mere natural history- 

 expedition, harmless enough in itself but with no 

 bearing at all on the business we were out for. So 

 off he went stealthily up the river bank for about a 

 stone's-throw, then suddenly stopped and beckoned 

 to me, whereupon I proceeded, also stealthily, towards 

 him. ' There 's one,' he said, ' just to the left of that 

 dark bit of weed,' pointing to a mark about thirty yards 

 away. ' Don't you see him ? ' Now I should have 

 been no little huffed had I been told I couldn't see a fish 

 in the water as well as the average angler, but like the 

 latter I had never gone in for trout-stalking as an art, 

 and I had to confess I couldn't. He was a little im- 

 patient at this, so after a few seconds I basely dis- 

 sembled and pretended I could. ' Will you try him 

 or shall I ? ' I didn't at the moment know that I had 

 one of the best fishermen in Wiltshire at my elbow. 

 But if I had known him to be the worst, I should have 

 handed him over the job with pleasure. Hunting 

 up your fish before you caught them seemed utterly 

 subversive of every article of the angler's creed as I 

 till then had known it. Moreover the essay in that 

 shallow, transparent water, to say nothing of the 

 length of line required, seemed mere foolishness. I had 

 always fancied I could throw an ordinarily decent line, 

 and had followed in wet-fly fishing the ' fine and far 

 off ' method with assiduity and conviction. Un- 

 doubtedly I could lay out as long a one as is ever 

 requisite in quick waters or on a chalk stream with a 

 ripple of a wind, or again I could pitch one handily 

 between boughs or under roots a good deal of 

 extra schooling in North American forest streams had 

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