gh banks, through which, in rainy
weather, a small feeder fell into the loch. I guessed that he had been
frightened away by the descent of the mist, which usually "puts down" the
trout and prevents them from feeding. In that case his alarm was
premature. I marched homewards, happy with the unaccustomed weight of my
basket, the contents of which were a welcome change from the usual
porridge and potatoes, tea (without milk), jam, and scones of the
shepherd's table. But, as I reached the height above the loch on my
westward path, and looked back to see if rising fish were dimpling the
still waters, all flushed as they were with sunset, behold, there was the
Other Man at work again!

I should have thought no more about him had I not twice afterwards seen
him at a distance, fishing up a "lane" ahead of me, in the loneliest
regions, and thereby, of course, spoiling my sport. I knew him by his
peculiar stoop, which seemed not unfamiliar to me, and by his hat, which
was of the clerical pattern once known, perhaps still known, as "a Bible-
reader's"--a low, soft, slouched black felt. The second time that I
found him thus anticipating me, I left off fishing and walked rather
briskly towards him, to satisfy my curiosity, and ask the usual
questions, "What sport?" and "What flies?" But as soon as he observed me
coming he strode off across the heather. Uncourteous as it seems, I felt
so inquisitive that I followed him. But he walked so rapidly, and was so
manifestly anxious to shake me off, that I gave up the pursuit. Even if
he were a poacher whose conscience smote him for using salmon-roe, I was
not "my brother's keeper," nor anybody's keeper. He might "otter" the
loch, but how could I prevent him?

It was no affair of mine, and yet--where had I seen him before? His
gait, his stoop, the carriage of his head, all seemed familiar--but a
short-sighted man is accustomed to this kind of puzzle: he is always
recognising the wrong person, when he does not fail to recognise the
right one.

I am rather short-sighted, but science has its resources. Two or three
days after my encounter with this very shy sportsman, I went again to
Loch Nan. But this time I took with me a strong field-glass. As I
neared the crest of the low heathery slope immediately above the loch,
whence the water first comes into view, I lay down on the ground and
crawled like a deer-stalker to the skyline.

Then I got out the glass and reconnoitred. Th