i 



"TROUT TICKLING" 315 



name for heather, and Kiggs another name for rocks.) 

 Our house was so completely buried in the snow that 

 a tunnel had to be dug through the drift to the near- 

 by road. Through this road a channel had been dug 

 by the people to enable them to make connections 

 with the village of Ireshope-Burn, a mile or so below. 

 After the storm had ceased the temperature rose and 

 then fell again, thus solidifying the snow, so it would 

 almost, but not quite, bear a person's weight. 



I had been pent up, a veritable prisoner, for some 

 days by this snow blockade, but on Christmas Day the 

 sun shone out bright and warm, and, with or without 

 parental consent, I forget which, I slipped out of the 

 house, through the tunnel to the road and over the 

 road to the moors beyond, rejoicing in the thought 

 that I couldn't get lost, because I could surely come 

 back on my own tracks. So I jumped and flounced 

 in the snow, that was deep enough to bury all the 

 stone walls and hedges, and the novelty of getting 

 over these without feeling or seeing them was rather 

 delightful to my young brain. 



But look! "What's that struggling in the snow 

 ahead of me ? As I live, a big hare, and almost ex- 

 hausted ! " The sight nearly robbed me of my breath. 

 I had a good deal of the sportsman's blood in my 

 veins, even at that early period, and it danced through 

 them in such a lively fashion I forgot all about the 

 poaching laws and went for "the timorous flying 



