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CHAPTER IX. 



ROE-SHOOTING IN THE BALKANS. 



The sun was struggling with the dense white mist 

 as I drew up the door of the tent at about half- 

 past seven. Here, down by the river, its rays had 

 not yet penetrated, and the grass was still white with 

 rime, but that hillside which faced east was bathed in 

 sunshine. The air was keen, and the thickness of the 

 ice on a bucket outside the door proved that the frost 

 had been sharpish. I was glad to return to the genial 

 warmth of the stove, which my man had lighted half 

 an hour before. By the time I had despatched my 

 breakfast the sun had cleared off the mist, and I 

 started off with one hound, Dinah, in leash. After 

 crossing the bridge I was again in shadow, and felt 

 glad enough of a thick kilt and shooting -coat. I 

 struck off up the valley opposite my camp, and 

 followed a hill path which kept on crossing and re- 

 crossing the meandering rivulet. I did not meet a 

 soul on my way, and after a little more than half 

 an hour my path led into a dense covert. As I 

 crossed the stream for the eighth time, I passed a 

 tumbledown mill to my left ; few of these mountain 

 streams but have one or two, to which the mountain 

 villagers bring their corn many miles. This one, 



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