A BORDER BOYHOOD 13 



often thought of him in church. In a moment of 

 profane confidence my younger brother once asked 

 me : ' What do you do in sermon time? I,' said he 

 in a whisper — 'mind you don't tell — / tell stories 

 to myself about catching trout.' To which I added 

 a similar confession, for even so I drove the ser- 

 mon by, and I have not ' told ' — till now. 



By this time we must have been introduced to 

 trout. Who forgets his first trout ? Mine, thanks 

 to that unlucky star, was a double deception, or 

 rather there were two kinds of deception. A 

 village carpenter very kindly made rods for us. 

 They were of unpainted wood, these first rods ; they 

 were in two pieces, with a real brass joint, and there 

 was a ring at the end of the top joint, to which the 

 line was knotted. We were still in the age of 

 Walton, who clearly knew nothing, except by 

 hearsay, of a reel ; he abandons the attempt to 

 describe that machine as used by the salmon- 

 fishers. He thinks it must be seen to be under- 

 stood. With these innocent weapons, and with 

 the gardener to bait our hooks, we were taken to 

 the Yarrow, far up the stream, near Ladhope. 



