146 



CHAPTER XVII. 



IN EPIRUS. 



"Are you game for a couple of days at the pig, 

 next week ? " asked H. of me one afternoon, on which 

 we happened to meet on one of the muddy Corfiote 

 country roads. 



" Why, certainly," was my reply (I am afraid this 

 quotation will be lost on the rising generation) ; and 

 accordingly we made preparation. There had been 

 considerable difficulty that winter about shooting 

 permits for Albania, but this was then mostly at an 

 end. The weather — incessantly wet since the middle 

 of November — was as favourable as it could be, as 

 the marshes were temporarily turned into ponds, and 

 the pig consequently driven to the foot-hills. 



All arrangements having been made, the Olive, one 

 of the smartest of the well-known Woodley fleet of 

 yachts, cast off her moorings about three o'clock one 

 Wednesday afternoon, having for passengers H., my 

 wife, and myself Wind there was little or none, and 

 dinner was over long ere the anchor was let go in the 

 little roadstead of Tre Scoglie — so called for no very 

 clear reason, because there are really j^'ye islets. 



Next morning H. and I, with Lorenzo, the skipper 

 of the yacht, who was also to captain the beaters, 



