ish; then I know that everything is
going right--that every pool is being properly cast over--that Robert is
satisfied. And in the meantime I can sit and drink in all the beauty of
the scenery--the quietude--the loneliness; that is a real change for me,
after the busy life of London. I have got to be great friends with this
river; I seem to have known it all my life; when we were coming home
last evening, after being away in those awful solitudes, the sound of
the Geinig was the most welcome thing I ever heard, I think."

"It is to the Geinig we are going now," said his companion, who appeared
quite to ignore the insidious appeal conveyed in these touching
sentiments. "I promised to leave all the Aivron pools to Mr. Lestrange.
But we may take the Junction Pool, for he won't have time to come beyond
the Bad Step; and, by the way, Mr. Moore, if you feel stiff after
yesterday, going up and down the Bad Step won't do you any harm."

Well, the ascent of this Bad Step (whether so named from the French or
the Gaelic nobody seemed to know) was not so difficult, after all, for
it was gradual; and a brief breathing-space on the summit showed them
the far-stretching landscape terminating in the wild mountains of
Assynt; but the sheer descent into the gloomy chasm on the other side
was rather an awkward thing for any one encased in waders. However,
Lionel managed somehow or another to slide and scramble down this
zig-zag track on the face of the loose debris; they reached the bottom
in safety and crossed the burn; they followed a more secure pathway cut
along the precipitous slope overlooking the Aivron; then they got down
once more to the river-side, and found themselves walking over
velvet-soft turf, in a wood of thinly scattered birch and hazel.

But when they emerged from this wood, passed along by some meadows, and
reached the Junction Pool (so called from the Geinig and Aivron meeting
here), they found that the sun was much too bright; so they contentedly
seated themselves on the bank to wait for a cloud, while old Robert
proceeded to consult his fly-book. Neither of them seemed in a very
talkative mood; indeed, when you are in front of a Highland river, with
its swift-glancing lights, its changing glooms and gleams, its continual
murmur and prattle, what need is there of any talk? Talk only distracts
the attention. And this part of the stream was especially beautiful.
They could hardly quarrel with the sunlight when, undern