A BORDER BOYHOOD 17 



there such slaughter. The corks which we used 

 as floats were perpetually tipping, bobbing, and 

 disappearing, and then the red-finned perch would 

 fly out on to dry land. Here I once saw two 

 corks go down, two anglers haul up, and one 

 perch, attached to both hooks, descend on the 

 grassy bank. My brother and I filled two baskets 

 once, and strung dozens of other perch on a stick. 



But this was not legitimate business. Not till 

 we came to fly-fishing were we really entered at 

 the sport, and this initiation took place, as it 

 chanced, beside the very stream where I was first 

 shown a trout. It is a charming piece of water, 

 amber-coloured and clear, flowing from the Morvern 

 hills under the limes of an ancient avenue — trees 

 that have long survived the house to which, of old, 

 the road must have led. Our gillie put on for us 

 big bright sea-trout flies — nobody fishes there for 

 yellow trout ; but, in our inexperience, small 

 ' brownies ' were all we caught. Probably we 

 were only taken to streams and shallows where we 

 could not interfere with mature sportsmen. At all 

 events, it was demonstrated to us that we could 



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