144 AN ANGLER'S SEASON 



north-west bore scarcely any cloud, and 

 the atmosphere was already warm. Mr. 

 Wood and I were hastening by railroad 

 to Lochleven. I myself was in high 

 hope ; but, beyond expecting a day of 

 pleasant indolence on the water, my friend 

 had no hope at all. My reason for good 

 cheer was that a storm-centre had just 

 passed. There had been rain on Saturday 

 and a gale on Sunday ; now the wind, 

 much less strong, was still falling, and 

 the mercury in the barometer was slowly 

 rising. These, as I had often found, were 

 the only conditions amid which trout were 

 certain to feed. Mr. Wood's doctrine 

 was that, though the conditions might 

 be favourable on other waters, they were 

 very bad on Lochleven. The fish there, 

 he said, never rose when the sun shone 

 brightly. Hubert Wood, who was with 

 us, inclined towards the gloomy view. 

 So, when we arrived at the Green Hotel, 

 was Mr. Harris, who has known the lake 

 for forty years. So was Miss White, in 

 charge of the office at the pier, while we 



