Читать книгу England have my Bones - T. H. White - Страница 22

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A happy day, for I forgot it was my last until we were back in the gun-room. The rain missed us, though it poured in Grantly. The salmon were still leaping as with yesterday, the strongish wind was in the west, and the sky was cloudy though bright. We went after trout, taking the water bailiff, in order to send some away for examination. The vent is hard, protrusive and sometimes bleeding (generally inflamed like a boil), and the belly goes blackish quickly after killing. They are in poor condition. Macdonald had five, I had four and the water bailiff two. They were taking very small flies, olive duns and march browns, but it was not a taking day. I scrambled about in the river in waders and enjoyed myself and sat about and smoked. We ought to have had more fish, except for the smallness of the fly. I lost a dozen or so, two or three quite powerful pulls. People who say that very small flies kill as well as big ones are cranks. It stands to reason. Macdonald lost five fish in one passage over the Mill Pool. But of course you sometimes have to have them.

The cow was out as usual. It is not a laughable spectacle really. There is something horrible about it. The horse is poor, but not a scarecrow. Somehow this makes it worse. And the man has a toiling face.

Back in the gun-room it was terrible. I had to gather all my traps together, and then I couldn’t bear to go. So we sat and smoked and all the time I could see that Macdonald was wanting his tea, but I couldn’t say good-bye. It is horrible to be sure that it will be for good. I said I would be back with the witch in September, but I doubt it. The Rothmore is so beautiful between its lovely barren hills, and unattainable. It is odd to think that it will be here whilst I am there, and Macdonald will be in the gun-room, and the stones in the river (except two), and the clouds on the top of Groamach.