Crichmere Memories 115 



' little fat man ' with the flies in his cap. 

 Though only acquainted through corre- 

 spondence, we were friends in five minutes, 

 and, of course, hard at it spinning fishing 

 yarns. Did I fish ? Dry fly — good. Where ? 

 Derbyshire, Kent, Hertfordshire — better. 

 Of course, he knew all the streams and their 

 fishes ; many of the latter, indeed, were near 

 blood-relatives to the trout I had come down 

 to this place to see. 'You haven't brought 

 your rod,' said Mr. Andrews, ' so I shall have 

 to lend you one, because I want to put you 

 on to a six-pounder, which is usually anxious 

 to get a hook into its mouth.' I immediately 

 wanted to be put on to that trout, but my 

 companion intimated quietly, though firmly, 

 that the first thing to do was to have lunch, 

 the second to see the ponds and their in- 

 habitants, and the third to get back to 

 Guildford. The particular six-pounder re- 

 ferred to was not here at all, but at the back 

 garden at Westgate House. Crichmere it- 

 self has been so constantly described that I 

 shall content myself with remarking that its 



