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CHAPTER XIII. 



A CHRISTMAS SHOOT IN THE ARDENNES. 



I CANNOT begin in the traditional manner by saying 

 that "the morning broke fine and clear," for on the 

 particular Christmas Day I am about to describe it 

 was still pitch dark when I left the old chateau 

 where I had my temporary quarters. My footsteps 

 crunched loudly on the frozen snow as I made my 

 way across the place to the shed-like station, where 

 the steam- tram was waiting. In this, in spite of 

 wraps, I shivered for nearly an hour, till we reached 

 the junction of steam - tramway and railway. We 

 had a considerable time to wait here, and everybody 

 hastened to the combined waiting and refreshment 

 room in quest of hot coffee. 



Day was really beginning to break greyly as our 

 train rolled up. A quarter of an hour's run took 

 us to Mersch. This is a fairly important little 

 town, about the biggest business there being that 

 of Messrs Schwartz, a firm of gun -makers pretty 

 well known throughout North - Western Europe; 

 and deservedly. 



However, on this occasion my business lay not in 

 the town itself, but at a villa not far from the station 

 — the rendezvous of our shooting party, and the resi- 



