ST. KILDA FEOM WITHOUT 179 



as a Heron carries its neck, but stretched stiffly for- 

 wards. We had marked the birds down in an oat-field, 

 a few hundred yards off the road, where, in spite of all 

 our efforts to outwit them, the eyes of four sentries, 

 who stood on duty, straight as gateposts, while the 

 others fed, had proved too sharp for us. 



The daylight had almost gone as, with several stages 

 of the road to be driven still before us, we pulled up 

 for fresh horses in the courtyard of a change-house, 

 standing between lake and forest. The day's work was 

 over. There was a noisy gathering of men and women 

 and children in the yard, and the competition for the 

 honour of driving us the next stage was keen. 



A hulking fellow, in a sheepskin coat, in the quarrel- 

 some stage of drunkenness, took possession of the 

 box-seat of our carriage, and, refusing to give way, was 

 seized by two or three others and violently ejected. 

 As he rolled on the ground swearing, a boy, merrily 

 singing at the top of his voice, jumped up and slashed 

 the ponies. The picture which we looked back upon, 

 as we started at a gallop, followed by the baggage-cart, 

 driven by a laughing girl, is as fresh in the memory now 

 as the day it was painted. 



The sun had just set. Wreaths of mist were creep- 

 ing up from the lake to the fir-trees which were massed 

 in purple against a sky of transparent green and orange. 

 In the middle of the inn-yard raged our friend, driving 

 all before him as he hit right and left with a big 

 salmon, snatched dripping from a pickling-tub, gripped 

 with both hands by the tail. 



