"
I express my regret for having so nearly shot the "Favourite of the
Glen" through inadvertence! I explain that I came out deerstalking,
and did not expect, of course, to come across a perfectly tame and
domestic stag.
"A weel, there's nae mischief done," continues my interlocutor;
"but it's nae good a stalking Epaminondas, for he's just a sagacious
beastie altogether."
* * * * *
Here we are at the Lodge. But, hulloah! what's this uproar on the
lawn? A herd of deer dashing wildly over everything, flowerbeds
and all, and, yes, absolutely five of them bursting into the house,
through one of the drawing-room windows, while JEPSON and the two
kirk Ministers emerge hurriedly, terrified, from the other. Crash!
And what's _that_? Why, surely it _can't_ be--but yes, I believe it
is--yes, it _positively is_ the Chief's pickaxe that has flown through
the air, and just smashed through the upper panes, scattering the
glass in a thousand fragments in all directions!
And thus ends my Stalking for the Present, and (probably) the Future!
* * * * *
[Illustration: BLACK SYRENS.
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