A TWEEDSIDE SKETCH 131 



the red tinge had died out of the water, but only 

 a ver)- strong wader would have ventured in ; 

 others had a good chance, if they tried it, of being 

 picked up at Berwick. Friday was the luckless 

 da)' of my own failure and broken heart. The 

 water was still very heavy and turbid, a frantic 

 wind was lashing the woods, heaps of dead leaves 

 floated down, and several sheaves of corn were 

 drifted on the current. The long boat-pool at 

 Yair, however, is sheltered by wooded banks, and 

 it was possible enough to cast, in spite of the 

 wind's fury. We had driven from a place about 

 five miles distant, and we had not driven three 

 hundred yards before I remembered that we had 

 forgotten the landing-net. But, as I expected 

 nothing, it did not seem worth while to go back 

 for this indispensable implement. We reached 

 the water-side, and found that the trout were 

 feeding below the pendent branches of the trees 

 and in the quiet, deep eddies of the long boat- 

 pool. One cannot see rising trout without cast- 

 ing over them, in preference to labouring after 

 salmon, so 1 put up a small rod and diverted 



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