The Land of the Hills and the Glens 



was gained and the trout, one by one, were liberated and 

 sent forward into an unknown world. But one small trout- 

 let, the baby of the pioneers, was not destined to explore 

 the black depths of the lochan. All through the journey 

 he had been pining and went out on to his last great 

 journey just as the goal was reached. 



I have often wondered what was the fate of these trout. 

 Food they must have secured, for during the summer 

 myriads of small insects play above the surface of the 

 lochan, and the depths of the waters contain snails and 

 other delicacies. The lochan, too, is of too great a depth 

 for the ice to penetrate far beneath the surface, even during 

 the most severe frost. One can only hope that the explorers 

 are by now firmly established, and that the waters of the 

 fochan, lonely from time immemorial, have at last been 

 given small people to cherish in their gloomy recesses. 



