CH. xxxiv. SHEPHERD'S HUT. 229 



within sight of our resting-place for the night, but 

 it was still a long distance off. On the left, rising 

 with a clear outline in the bright sky, was the lofty 

 mountain where we intended to try for ptarmigan. 

 The snow, however, looked so deep on it that we 

 began to think we might as well have stopped at 

 home. But I was very anxious to get a few birds 

 in their pure winter plumage, and determined not 

 to give in, if any chance of success offered itself. 

 As we approached nearer to the shepherd's hut, 

 the hillsides, which were covered with fine old 

 weeping birch, presented a most beautiful appear- 

 ance ; and here we saw a great many blackcocks, 

 either perched on the leafless branches of the birch, 

 or trying to make a scanty meal of the juniper 

 berries, which they contrived to get at here and 

 there, where the snow was not so deep. I shot a 

 couple of fine old birds as they flew over our 

 heads from one side of the river to the other ; and 

 Donald missed several more, as shooting flying is 

 decidedly not his forte. 



Our approach had been observed from a dis- 

 tance, and the shepherd was ready to receive us. 

 His wife, " on hospitable cares intent," hurried to 

 and fro, piling peats and fir-roots on the fire. I 

 had got wet at .the spring where we killed the 

 ducks, and my trousers, higher than my knees, 



