165 



LOWRIE'S GAP 



ONE sunny day I sat on a log smoking and idly not- 

 ing the characteristic features of a Border scene. A 

 foaming little river (a tributary of Tweed) came 

 dancing down between rocky scaurs, whose red was 

 spotted white with pigeons, fled thither from the 

 dovecot at the farm, and crowned with the oaks and 

 elms of an ancient forest dear to Sir Walter. Had I 

 deliberately sought a place of ambush, I could have 

 found no better than I had chosen by accident. A 

 slope, v a screen of leaves, and an arm of the river all 

 these combined to conceal me from the champaign 

 through which the water bickered further down ; and 

 thus it befel that the two unsoaped, ragged vagabonds 

 that came strolling along the bank recked not of 

 a witness. Suddenly (but after one quick glance 

 round), the elder climbed a tree, while his junior 

 crossed to the other side. As he approached, I saw 

 that he had unpocketed a big fish-hook, with a stout 

 string and a weight ; and when the watcher aloft 

 began calling, ' Weel ower, Wully ; canny, now, canny ; 

 yont a bit,' and the like, the business of these ignoble 

 sportsmen was no more matter of conjecture. In a 

 very few minutes the director shouted, ' Now, pull ! ' 

 and, with a sharp jerk and a haul, out came a wriggling, 

 glittering salmon, infamously hooked in the side. 

 Nor was this the end. The sportsman on the tree 



