burdocks by the wayside gradually spread their leaves, and the
procession of the flowers went on. The dandelion, the lesser celandine,
the marsh marigold, the coltsfoot, all yellow, had already led the van,
closely accompanied by the purple ground-ivy, the red dead-nettle, and
the daisy; this last a late comer in the neighbourhood. The blackthorn,
the horse-chestnut, and the hawthorn came, and the meadows were golden
with the buttercups.

Once only had I noticed any indication of fish in the brook; it was on a
warm Saturday afternoon, when there was a labourer a long way up the
stream, stooping in a peculiar manner near the edge of the water with a
stick in his hand. He was, I felt sure, trying to wire a spawning jack,
but did not succeed. Many weeks had passed, and now there came (as the
close time for coarse fish expired) a concourse of anglers to the almost
stagnant pond fed by the side hatch.

Well-dressed lads with elegant and finished tackle rode up on their
bicycles, with their rods slung at their backs. Hoisting the bicycles
over the gate into the meadow, they left them leaning against the elms,
fitted their rods and fished in the pond. Poorer boys, with long wands
cut from the hedge and ruder lines, trudged up on foot, sat down on the
sward and watched their corks by the hour together. Grown men of the
artisan class, covered with the dust of many miles' tramping, came with
their luncheons in a handkerchief, and set about their sport with a
quiet earnestness which argued long if desultory practice.

In fine weather there were often a dozen youths and four or five men
standing, sitting, or kneeling on the turf along the shore of the pond,
all intent on their floats, and very nearly silent. People driving along
the highway stopped their traps, and carts, and vans a minute or two to