THE COMMON DOTTEREL. 233 



At the side of the road was the ruin of a church, 

 since used, or rather abused, as the grand empo- 

 rium of a smuggling gang. Here many a Dirk 

 Hatteraick of the Forth had found a safe and 

 secret refuge for the contents of his lugger ; and 

 if the mouldering walls could speak, strange stories 

 might they bring to light. Soon after we drove 

 over Pease Bridge, the highest arch perhaps in 

 Scotland. Looking down from it made one's head 

 swim round. 



The keeper had despatched one of his aide-de- 

 camps to search the heights near the sea, but 

 retained the other, as he, having noticed the 

 arrival of the dotterels, could guide us to the 

 fields where they had been feeding. We com- 

 menced our beat very systematically. Often in 

 line, but sometimes separating, we quartered each 

 field with the regularity of well-trained setters, 

 and never left it while there was a corner untried. 

 And in truth there was need for this carefulness, 

 as our game, except when the variegated breast of 

 an old male was turned towards us, was as like 

 the colour of fallow or lea ground as a ptarmigan 

 to the granite rock. 



