He stopped short and threw his fly once or twice without effect, and then, moved by curiosity, waded into the shallow rippling water, which rose a little way above his boots, but as it began to invade his trousers he rolled them up to his knees, before wading onward till he was stopped by the piled-up cliff face where the water came gliding out and rippled about his legs.
“Why, it ought to be quite cold,” he muttered, “instead of which it is warm.”
Then, standing up his rod so that the top rested among the stones, he stooped down, bending nearly double before he could pass in beneath a rough stony natural arch and slowly force his way along a narrow passage for a few feet, before stopping short where the water nearly reached his knees.
“Oh, I say! I am not going to break my back short off at the hips by squeezing in here,” he grumbled. “Besides, it’s all dark; and what’s the good? Here, I know! This isn’t the source. This tor is only a piled-up heap of stones, and I dare say if I go round I shall find the little river coming in on the other side, and this is where it comes out. Well, let it. Here, I want my lunch.”
He made his way back into the sunshine where all was bright and clear again, and, taking his rod, stepped out to the edge of the pool, where the dry sand felt pleasant and comfortable to his feet, and there he went on fishing again with more or less success, till he passed out of the little amphitheatre to where the rocks fell away on either side, half hidden by the heath and furze.
“Must have got fifty by this time,” muttered the boy. “Now just one more to make sure, and then I’ll be off, and— Ugh! Who are you? How you made me jump!”
