of such a thing as trout. But one morning something happened. The brook
was dammed up on the sunny side of the bridge, and the water let off by
a side-hatch, that some accursed main or pipe or other horror might be
laid across the bed of the stream somewhere far down.

Above the bridge there was a brimming broad brook, below it the flags
lay on the mud, the weeds drooped, and the channel was dry. It was dry
up to the beech tree. There, under the drooping boughs of the beech, was
a small pool of muddy water, perhaps two yards long, and very narrow--a
stagnant muddy pool, not more than three or four inches deep. In this I
saw the trout. In the shallow water, his back came up to the surface
(for his fins must have touched the mud sometimes)--once it came above
the surface, and his spots showed as plain as if you had held him in
your hand. He was swimming round to try and find out the reason of this
sudden stinting of room.

Twice he heaved himself somewhat on his side over a dead branch that was
at the bottom, and exhibited all his beauty to the air and sunshine.
Then he went away into another part of the shallow and was hidden by the
muddy water. Now under the arch of the bridge, his favourite arch, close
by there was a deep pool, for, as already mentioned, the scour of the
current scooped away the sand and made a hole there. When the stream was
shut off by the dam above this hole remained partly full. Between this
pool and the shallow under the beech there was sufficient connection for
the fish to move into it.

My only hope was that he would do so, and as some showers fell,
temporarily increasing the depth of the narrow canal between the two
pools, there seemed every reason to believe that he had got to that
under the arch. If now only that accursed pipe or main, or whatever