t Teddington
on January 20, 1900.

_I.--An Adventure in Glen Doone_

Two miles below our farm at Oare, the Bagworthy water runs into the
Lynn, but though I fished nearly every stream in our part of Exmoor in
my boyhood, it was a long time before I dared go those two miles. For
the water flowed out of Glen Doone, where the Doones had settled, and I
had good reason to be afraid of this wild band of outlaws. It was an
unhappy day for everybody on Exmoor when Sir Ensor Doone was outlawed by
good King Charles, and came with his tall sons and wild retainers to the
Bagworthy water.

This befell in 1640. At first, the newcomers were fairly quiet, and what
little sheep-stealing they did was overlooked. But in the troublous
times of the Great Rebellion they grew bolder and fiercer; they attacked
men and burnt farms and carried off women, and all Exmoor stood in fear
and terror of them. None of the Doones was under six feet, and there
were forty and more of them, and they were all true marksmen. The worst
thing they did was to murder my father, John Ridd, in the year 1673,
when I was twelve years of age.

That was why I was afraid to fish the Bagworthy water. But I spent a
good deal of time in learning to shoot straight with my father's gun; I
sent pretty well all the lead gutter round our little church into our
best barn door, a thing which has often repented me since, especially as
churchwarden. When, however, I was turned fourteen years old, and put
into small clothes, and worsted hosen knitted by my dear mother, I set
out with a loach-fork to explore the Bagworthy water. It was St.
Valentine's day, 1676, as I well remember. After wading along Lynn
stream, I turned into the still more icy-cold current of Bagworthy
water, where I speared an abundance of loaches. I was stopped at last by
a great black whirlpool, into which a slide of water came thundering a
hundred yards down a cliff. My bare legs were weak and numbed with cold,
and twilight was falling in the wild, narrow glen. So I was inclined to
turn back. But then I said to myself: "John Ridd, the place is making a
coward of thee."

With that, I girt up my breeches anew, and slung the fish tighter round
my neck, and began to climb up through the water-slide. The green wave
came down on me and my feet gave way, but I held with my loach-fork to a
rock, and got my footing. How I got up, I cannot remember, but I fainted
on reaching the top of the cliff.

When I