In the Peak Country. 133 



dawdle back to the smithy, the dogs following gravely in a 

 listening attitude. 



A gentleman on the previous afternoon down at Hather- 

 sage was angling with gentles, and caught a small grayling, 

 which he had pulled nearly out of the miHtail when a great 

 trout ferociously rushed at and gobbled it, taking the 

 point of the hook also into the bargain. There was a 

 dash of pathos in this narrative : the gentleman played the 

 trout for half an hour, and then permitted it to break away 

 from-him. . 



It is very pleasant, sitting upon a newly-made wheel- 

 barrow outside the smithy, to hear all this conversation, and 

 look up and around at the many-tinted' hills and village 

 flower-gardens, to smell the wood fires, and hear the forge, 

 the rustling branches, and the flowing stream combining in 

 a sleepy kind of chorus. But our anglers are ready, and 

 we have engaged to look on as umpires. 



One of these fishermen might not untruly be termed a — if 

 not the — judicious hooker. The first reach of the Ashop is 

 between a garden hedge on the one side and a wall rising 

 sheer out of the stream on the other. The water is low 

 and clear ; "there is not a scrap of cover in its bed, except 

 stones, lying for the most part flat on the bottom. The 

 current is therefore tolerably even, and the course free for 

 the up-stream angler. Wisely he uses' a couple of flies and 

 half a dozen yards of line. Wisely he moves warily, never 

 splashing as he brings one foot before the other, pausing 

 always for a minute or two on arriving at a new position. 

 Standing above him the spectator can see every pebble in 

 the river's bed, but not a fish within range of his vision. 

 Yet stop. The eye kept steadily upon the river becomes 

 attuned to the colour of the stony bed — a light brown, and 

 soon it detects a long, thin, light-brown form where none 



