THE SNOW BUNTING 249 



occasional call of a VVheatear, or the murmuring of the 

 burn as it threads its way southward, with the summer's 

 sun reflected back from its waters of wonderful clearness. 



One sees many a hill and glen from the country of the 

 Snow Bunting. Sometimes, away on the western hills, 

 the mist has lain thick while here the weather was fine 

 and clear. Sometimes, too, after a dawn of mist and wind, 

 the air has suddenly been stilled, and the hills one by one 

 have shown themselves out of the mist sea. 



Once when I was listening for the Snow Bird's song, 

 a remarkable change in the weather was, with scarce 

 any warning, experienced through the whole of Scotland. 

 The morning was beautifully fine, scarce a breath of wind 

 stirred, and the sun shone full on the scree where was the 

 Snow Bunting's home. But soon a curious layer of grey 

 cloud overspread the sky. The clouds were at an immense 

 height, and scarcely dimmed the rays of the sun ; and 

 even on Ben Nevis, fifty miles distant, every snowfield 

 stood out distinctly. Away north-westward, at an even 

 greater distance, the hills of the far north-west — of 

 Knoidart and of the district bordering on Skye — were 

 plentifully sprinkled with the snow of a winter which was 

 now long since passed. 



Within the space of less than an hour a rapidly ad- 

 vancing depression held the whole of the vast area in its 

 grip. Hill after hill was rapidly dimmed, first in a thin 

 rain, and then, as the storm gathered, in cold grey mist- 

 clouds. The wind increased to almost gale force, driving 

 before it stinging blasts of rain and forcing the clouds low 

 down on the faces of the hills so recently bathed in bright 

 smilight. A great darkness settled on the country of the 

 glens. Lower and lower the clouds were driven. 



One hill in particular presented a curiously grand, 

 arresting appearance. At times it was free of clouds, 

 from base to summit. Then, in the course of a few 



