VII 
A TRIBUTARY OF THE SEVERN 
HE Tern is only a little river. Yet it 
| must always be she little river. For it 
is enthroned in memory as the wonder- 
ful water into which a tiny tot in a 
meadow near Pell Wall Hall, Market Drayton, 
threw a buttercup, which was instantly seized by 
a monster trout, a creature which bulked more 
like a whale. And it was the still more wonder- 
ful water which yielded an eager lad’s first trout. 
The Tern ran within view of the old home 
at Market Drayton, and at night the music of the 
waterfall by the valley mill could be heard, bring- 
ing its own tranquil message. Early on a 
summer morning just after sunrise when all the 
world is still an impulse to get up was rewarded 
by the sight of the little river shining like a 
multitude of diamonds ; for in those far-off days 
just on the other side of the Newport-road bridge 
was a reach of miniature, trout-haunted rapids, 
These rapids have now disappeared, and here- 
abouts the water flows evenly and quietly, never 
forgetting that appointment at Atcham, near 
