There were several people on the platform, and I
thought I had better wait to ask my way till I was clear of the place.
The road led through a wood of great beeches and then into a
shallow valley, with the green backs of downs peeping over the
distant trees. After Scotland the air smelt heavy and flat, but
infinitely sweet, for the limes and chestnuts and lilac bushes were domes
of blossom. Presently I came to a bridge, below which a clear slow
stream flowed between snowy beds of water-buttercups. A little
above it was a mill; and the lasher made a pleasant cool sound in
the scented dusk. Somehow the place soothed me and put me at my
ease. I fell to whistling as I looked into the green depths, and the
tune which came to my lips was 'Annie Laurie'.
A fisherman came up from the waterside, and as he neared me he
too began to whistle. The tune was infectious, for he followed my
suit. He was a huge man in untidy old flannels and a wide-brimmed
hat, with a canvas bag slung on his shoulder. He nodded to me,
and I thought I had never seen a shrewder or better-tempered face.
He leaned his delicate ten-foot split-cane rod against the bridge,
and looked with me at the water.
'Clear, isn't it?' he said pleasantly. 'I back our Kenner any day
against the Test. Look at that big fellow. Four pounds if he's an
ounce. But the evening rise is over and you can't tempt 'em.
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