th but a small circle of unbroken water in the centre,
and all the rest of its shallowness bristling, in every bay, with reeds
and rushes, and surrounded, all about the mossy flat, with marshes and
quagmires! What a breeding-place--"procreant cradle" for water-fowl! Now
comes thy turn, O'Bronte--for famous is thy name, almost as thy sire's,
among the flappers. Crawl down to leeward, Hamish, that you may pepper
them--should they take to flight overhead to the loch. Surefoot, taste
that greensward, and you will find it sweet and succulent. Dogs,
heel--heel!--and now let us steal, on our Crutch, behind that knoll, and
open a sudden fire on the swimmers, who seem to think themselves out of
shot at the edge of that line of water-lilies; but some of them will
soon find themselves mistaken, whirling round on their backs, and vainly
endeavouring to dive after their friends that disappear beneath the
agitated surface shot-swept into spray. Long Gun! who oft to the
forefinger of Colonel Hawker has swept the night-harbour of Poole all
alive with widgeons, be true to the trust now reposed in thee by Kit
North! And though these be neither geese, nor swans, nor hoopers, yet
send thy leaden shower among them feeding in their play, till all the
air be afloat with specks, as if at the shaking of a feather-bed that
had burst the ticking, and the tarn covered with sprawling mawsies and
mallards, in death-throes among the ducklings! There it lies on its
rest--like a telescope. No eye has discovered the invention--keen as
those wild eyes are of the plouterers on the shallows. Lightning and
thunder! to which all the echoes roar. But we meanwhile are on our back;
for of all the recoils that ever shook a shoulder, that one was the
severest--but 'twill probably cure our rheumatism and----Well
done--nobly, gloriously done, O'Bronte! Heaven and earth, how otter-like
he swims! Ha, Hamish! you have cut off the retreat of that airy
voyager--you have given it him in his stern, Hamish--and are reloading
for the flappers. One at a time in your mouth, O'Bronte! Put about with
that tail for a rudder--and make for the shore. What a stately creature!
as he comes issuing from the shallows, and bearing the old mallard
breast-high, walks all dripping along the greensward, and then shakes
from his curled ebony the flashing spray-mist. He gives us one look as
we crown the knoll, and then in again with a spang and a plunge far into
the tarn, caring no more for the