106 ©THE TROUT ARE RISING 
He would have been a good study for‘a “ Picture 
of a Happy Grayling Fisherman.” 
“Put on a green insect!” said he, briefly, in 
a moment snatched from business, as it were. 
“Thank you,” I said, “I will,” and I did. 
Hurrying on I came to a likely ford, established 
myself at its tail where the deeper water was 
beginning, and where a short line was not only 
valuable but also imperative. And then I had an 
hour of rare delight. Perhaps the sport which J 
enjoyed, good though it was, was not the chief 
part of my enjoyment. It was quite as much the 
behaviour of the dry fly, the green insect, that 
kept me rapt with attention and appreciation. 
The fly sat the water, now like an imitation of a 
greatly reduced hedgehog, now like a miniature 
busby! However absurd the two comparisons, 
they are what that floating dry fly, that green insect, 
put me in mind of at the time. The current was 
rapid, and, as soon as the fly alighted on the 
water, off it went! I positively laughed with 
enjoyment. Then all of a sudden a grayling 
would glide up from the bottom like a ghost, 
and maybe it was hooked—maybe not. It 
mattered little. Moreover, it would probably 
come again. When in the humour the grayling 
will rise several times to the same fly. It was 
a busy time, and, when the rise was over, I 
left the ford, still chuckling to myself. That 
was a good day. ‘The rise was not a long one, 
but it was brisk while it lasted. We both got a 
bag, the man from Stroud a bigger one than I. 
