1 30 AN ANGLER'S HOURS vm 



go farther and fare worse this after a little 

 exploration had revealed that the ditch was 

 in reality a tiny sluggish brook, which here 

 and there widened out into a pool, and was 

 everywhere of some depth. 



Pebbleville, as has been intimated, is not 

 the rose, but it lives near one. The fashion- 

 able watering-place of Pierhaven is but a 

 short journey away. Pierhaven boasts, of 

 course, shops, and the same afternoon the 

 angler expended some twenty shillings on 

 such a fly-fisher's outfit as a place where no 

 fly-fishing is could afford. 



The next morning saw him putting up a 

 nine-foot greenheart rod on the bank of the 

 brook and smiling, partly with pleasure, 

 partly with amusement ; it really seemed 

 rather ridiculous to fish for trout in so 

 microscopic a stream. Fate appeared to 

 agree with him, for not a cast had been 

 made when an interruption occurred in the 

 shape of a gamekeeper in leggings, who 

 politely asked if the angler had permission 

 to fish. Needless to say, the angler had not 

 permission ; the inhabitants of Pebbleville 

 had assured him that the brook was as free 

 and as troutless as air. But the keeper was 



