CLEAR WATERS 



there in a rage as they had got into his shoe and in- 

 commoded him. If memory serves me you could 

 almost throw a biscuit across the pool's shallow, 

 transparent waters. There are no fish in it, nor from 

 its appearance would any passer-by for a moment 

 expect there to be. Some thirty years ago it looked 

 just the same, nor did any traveller upon this often 

 travelled highway suspect that the shallow, trans- 

 parent pond was the haunt of anything bigger than 

 a minnow. 



One day, however, a well-known local character, 

 while driving by, saw what he believed, though he could 

 scarce credit his eyes, to be a monster trout. So, of 

 course, he stopped at the inn on his way down the valley 

 and related the astounding vision to all there con- 

 cerned, and as this was in the fishing season everybody 

 in the house was greatly moved thereat. For the way- 

 farer was a man of standing, fish knowledge, and sober 

 habit. One of the colonels, indeed the very artist who 

 immortalised the fish on the parlour wall, being in resi- 

 dence, it fell to him of course to take the necessary steps. 

 Being then in his prime and not long on the retired 

 list, he set off at once for the lonely pool, near the head 

 of the pass, armed for the fray. I knew him well in 

 after years, and he often told me the tale of the great 

 capture which, in fact, was a brief one and of slight 

 interest compared to the mystery of the trout itself. 

 For the latter took his natural minnow almost, I think, 

 at the first offer, which was not after all very strange, 

 as he had probably denuded the pond by this time of 

 its live-stock. The fish was brought to the bank 

 successfully after a lively contest, and weighed just 

 112 



