216 MOSTLY ABOVE TROUT 



sand-dunes is carpeted with acres of dwarf wild 

 roses, each miniature plant only two or three 

 inches high, and the scent of the roses sweetens 

 the gentle sea-breeze. The course of the stream 

 through the low-lying fields is marked by long 

 belts of yellow iris, till we lose sight of it where 

 it runs through the village. The view shore- 

 ward is of rich land divided up into small fields 

 of all shapes and sizes by high banks and hedges, 

 and, above them all, patches of downland dotted 

 with sheep cropping the short grass or nibbling 

 the young shoots of the gorse. From the sides 

 of the valley the distant note of a late cuckoo 

 reaches us faintly, and on our way down the 

 lane we heard a pigeon crooning in a wood on 

 the hill-side. Other birds are silent, busy with 

 the care of new broods in tree or hedgerow now 

 in full leaf. From the beach come the sounds 

 of gently breaking surf and foaming back-wash 

 and the shouts of joy of happy children. 



We soon come to a group of small paddlers, 

 busy with spades and buckets, trying to dam 

 up the course of a salt streamlet running through 

 channels in the hard sand from one of the bigger 

 rock-pools to the sea. They range in age down- 

 wards to a chubby, fat-legged youngster of two 

 or three, shrieking with glee, sitting in a beach- 

 pool and defying a nurse, who stands stockinged 



