168 



A SCOTTISH FLY-FISHER 



warmth and comfort of the bed I 

 had just vacated. But the sugges- 

 tion passed unheeded, and, cold, 

 wet, and dejected, I pursued my 

 way, cursing the stupidity by 

 which I had been drawn abroad 

 on such a morning. The sight 

 presented by the loch was ample 

 compensation for all that I had 

 undergone or was likely yef to 

 undergo. Cold, rain, all things 

 unpleasant, were instantly for- 

 gotten, and the gloom in which my thoughts were 

 wrapped incontinently fled. It was no longer folly by 

 which I had been prompted to defy the elements ; it 

 was a happy inspiration. Tails were flashing into sight 

 in all directions, and audible above the soughing of the 

 wind and the washing of the water on the shingle, was 

 the loud, continuous sound of splashing trout. The 

 spectacle was one to arouse the enthusiasm of the least 

 excitable of anglers, and with stiff and uncertain fingers 

 I hastily put up my rod. Though in the extraordinary 

 activity of the trout as they dashed to and fro on the 

 surface of the water there was a hint of frolic, they 

 were not in play. Their animation had a serious 



