84 FROM BLOMIDON TO SMOKY. 



cret of their little lives which seemed well worth 

 knowing. The evening air was full of rural 

 music : the tinkle-tankle of cowbells ; the clatter 

 of tiny sheep -hoofs speeding over the wooden 

 bridge; the complaining of geese, homeward 

 bound, by the roadside ; and the harsh, rattling 

 cries of the kingfishers, which, half a dozen 

 strong, persecuted the small fry of Trout Brook's 

 limpid waters. A school of big trout could be 

 seen lying sluggish at the bottom of the brook, 

 and their little kinsfolk were jumping freely in 

 all parts of the quiet water. Tiny flies hovered 

 over the pools ; and if they touched, or almost 

 touched, the water, agile fish flung themselves 

 into the air after them. Again and again I cast 

 my feathered fly upon the ripples ; but as no 

 answering rise pleased my expectant nerves, I 

 tossed my rod aside, and drifted on towards even- 

 ing with the stream of life and light and color 

 flowing over me. The bell -cow came to the 

 stream and drank, then passed slowly up the 

 road homewards ; a lamb, whimpering, followed 

 his woolly parent to the fold ; the geese, with 

 outstretched necks and indignant heads, scolded 

 all who passed them ; and suddenly an eagle with 

 mighty wing came sailing towards me across 

 broad Ainslie's ripples, bound for his mountain 

 loneliness. The sun had sunk below the western 

 hills, hills from whose seaward side Prince 



