up the north bank. The keeper was sitting on a stone, quietly smoking, with no trace of anger on his face, and before him, on a bit of smooth thymy turf, lay a salmon such as many a man has dreamt about, but few, indeed, seen with mortal eyes. Then for the first time that day the poor crofter forgot his troubles: for half a minute his only feeling was one of intense pride at such a victory. "Well-he's safe now," Rory said at length. "Ay!" replied Archie, still gaping at him. "Erchibald," went on the keeper, "oh man! you worked him just deevilish!" The other shook his head deprecatingly "Just deevilish! - frae start to finish!" "That was no' a bad bit o' work for a man o' my years," the keeper continued. "Gin I hadna been waiting for him there when he came by, it's little you'd have ever seen of your fish!" “I ken that fine,” said Archie. "Gin I had no' been quick enough to slip it into him thereit would be at Bonaw he would be by this time." "I'm believing that," replied the crofter. "It was no' an easy job neither. Stand you on yon stane, and see what footing you'll have." "There was few could do it, indeed, Mr MacGilp." "He was far more like a stirk to lift out of the water than a decent saumon!" "He was, Mr MacGilp, far more, indeed, like a very heavy stirk!" "If it hadna been my knowledge of all they sunken rocks, and shouting myself hoarse to guide you, where would you have been, my man, by this time?" "I believe I got yon muckle fish MYSELL!" with great emphasis on the last word. Archie looked north and east and west, and then at the salmon. "MYSELL!" as if finally and for the last time. "I believe that - too," said Archie, with a groan. The last three words came out with a gulp. "Well-he'll be an ugly burden to bear away doun. But a man canna pick an' choose as he would in this world! Good day to you then, Erchibald. And you might be going on wi' that new bit o' garden you're sae proud of; I'll gie you a wheen grand potatoes next year-for seed for't." So MacCorquodale set out under the hot sun homewards. Once more he had a reprieve, and he wondered how it was he did not feel happier. During the exciting fight he had many a time pictured to himself the little house from which he would be banished at Whitsunday, its rough meadow in front, and the peat-stacks, and the sunny untidy bit of garden, half filled with currant bushes and ribes and southernwood, over which the bees came in the gloaming, slow flying after their afternoon labour on the moor. Now he thought only of the battle he had won, which was not to bring him in any honour now, or happy reminiscences afterwards. ''Deed, I'll never have the chance of doing the like of yon again!" muttered the poor crofter to himself. GILFRID W. HARTLEY. Note.-The writer would like to add that he knows who the chief guardian of the Awe was at the period of this sketch. The real keeper was a very different man from the entirely imaginary one here depicted, and it is only by a kind of poetical-or prose-licence that the latter is pushed into a position which he never occupied in the flesh.-G. W. H. up the north bank. The keeper was sitting on a stone, quietly smoking, with no trace of anger on his face, and before him, on a bit of smooth thymy turf, lay a salmon such as many a man has dreamt about, but few, indeed, seen with mortal eyes. Then for the first time that day the poor crofter forgot his troubles: for half a minute his only feeling was one of intense pride-at such a victory. "Well-he's safe now," Rory said at length. "Ay!" replied Archie, still gaping at him. "Erchibald," went on the keeper, "oh man! you worked him just deevilish!" The other shook his head deprecatingly— "Just deevilish! frae start to finish!" "That was no' a bad bit o' work for a man o' my years," the keeper continued. "Gin I hadna been waiting for him there when he came by, it's little you'd have ever seen of your fish!" "I ken that fine," said Archie. "Gin I had no' been quick enough to slip it into him thereit would be at Bonaw he would be by this time." "I'm believing that," replied the crofter. "It was no' an easy job neither. Stand you on yon stane, and see what footing you'll have." "There was few could do it, indeed, Mr MacGilp." "He was far more like a stirk to lift out of the water than a decent saumon !" "He was, Mr MacGilp, far more, indeed, like a very heavy stirk!" "If it hadna been my knowledge of all they sunken rocks, and shouting myself hoarse to guide you, where would you have been, my man, by this time?" "I believe I got yon muckle fish MYSELL!" with great emphasis on the last word. Archie looked north and east and west, and then at the salmon. "MYSELL!" as if finally and for the last time. "I believe that - too," said Archie, with a groan. The last three words came out with a gulp. "Well—he'll be an ugly burden to bear away doun. But a man canna pick an' choose as he would in this world! Good day to you then, Erchibald. And you might be going on wi' that new bit o' garden you're sae proud of; I'll gie you a wheen grand potatoes next year-for seed for't." So MacCorquodale set out under the hot sun homewards. Once more he had a reprieve, and he wondered how it was he did not feel happier. During the exciting fight he had many a time pictured to himself the little house from which he would be banished at Whitsunday, its rough meadow in front, and the peat-stacks, and the sunny untidy bit of garden, half filled with currant bushes and ribes and southernwood, over which the bees came in the gloaming, slow flying after their afternoon labour on the moor. Now he thought only of the battle he had won, which was not to bring him in any honour now, or happy reminiscences afterwards. 'Deed, I'll never have the chance of doing the like of yon again!" muttered the poor crofter to himself. GILFRID W. HARTLEY. Note. The writer would like to add that he knows who the chief guardian of the Awe was at the period of this sketch. The real keeper was a very different man from the entirely imaginary one here depicted, and it is only by a kind of poetical-or prose-licence that the latter is pushed into a position which he never occupied in the flesh.-G. W. H. up the north bank. The keeper was sitting on a stone, quietly smoking, with no trace of anger on his face, and before him, on a bit of smooth thymy turf, lay a salmon such as many a man has dreamt about, but few, indeed, seen with mortal eyes. Then for the first time that day the poor crofter forgot his troubles: for half a minute his only feeling was one of intense pride at such a victory. "Well-he's safe now," Rory said at length. "Ay!" replied Archie, still gaping at him, "Erchibald," went on the keeper, "oh man! you worked him just deevilish!" The other shook his head deprecatingly"Just deevilish! frae start to finish!" "That was no' a bad bit o' work for a man o' my years," the keeper continued. "Gin I hadna been waiting for him there when he came by, it's little you'd have ever seen of your fish!" "I ken that fine," said Archie. "Gin I had no' been quick enough to slip it into him there— it would be at Bonaw he would be by this time." "I'm believing that," replied the crofter. "It was no' an easy job neither. Stand you on yon stane, and see what footing you'll have." "There was few could do it, indeed, Mr MacGilp." "He was far more like a stirk to lift out of the water than a decent saumon !" "He was, Mr MacGilp, far more, indeed, like a very heavy stirk!" "If it hadna been my knowledge of all they sunken rocks, and shouting myself hoarse to guide you, where would you have been, my man, by this time?” "It was your inteemate acquaintance with the stanes which saved me, indeed," once more agreed the crofter. "There's no anither man in the whole wide world could have steered you down yon places as I did!" "There is certainly not one in many thousand score would have taken such a vast o' trouble about it." "I gaffed him-an' I told you the road to take him-an' saved him many a time "You did all that an' more, Mr MacGilp. It's much obliged"I doubt I made the varra fly that rose him?" "You did that, indeed," said poor Archie, hopelessly. (He had made it himself the night before.) "Dod!" cried the keeper, "I believe I got yon muckle fish mysell!!" The other stared at him. "Archie, lad," said the keeper, and the voice of the man was changed now, and he spoke so softly and low it was difficult to recognise the same organ which a few minutes before had been hurling denunciations across the river, "I've been fishing here all my life ; man and boy I've been fishing here for nearly fifty years, an' I never yet had the luck to get the grip of such a fish as that!" MacCorquodale looked at him. curiously, and he was never able to say positively - he was never quite sure in his own mindwhether it was a tear which fell down over the rough cheek or not. Then there was a long silence. "An' where will it be ye'll be flitting to?" the old man asked, in quite another tone, and so suddenly that it made the crofter-deep in a reverie-jump. "Where'll I be-where-oh !— Mr MacGilp!" |
