158 REMINISCENCES OF THE LEWS. 



about tlie face and ears and hands — lie this 

 way motionless for from half-an-hour to one or 

 two hours, as the case may be ; or, should the 

 weather be warm and pleasant — which at that 

 time of year it is not often — vary the pleasure 

 a little and be midged, having either left your 

 midge-veil at home, or not daring to put it on 

 for fear of being seen ; and, if you are not then 

 on the verge of lunacy, you are a very patient, 

 well-enduring man. 



But everything has its end, and at last you 

 get up to your stag. Aye, no doubt he is a 

 clean royal — a bonnie beastie — and you put 

 your first ball just over him behind the shoulder, 

 while your second grazes the hair just under 

 it. Then you begin to feel you are cold — very 

 — and utterly wretched. You know your stag 

 will not bring up till Glen Braggar stops him. 

 You fumble for your flask ; it is somewhere in 

 the burn probably, where you rolled over when 

 the moss gave way. Sandie doesn't speak, but 

 he looks as if he meant mischief; and you 

 could cry, only you are in too great an inward 

 rage. There is nothing for it but facing for 

 the bothy, eight miles off — a keen north-wester 

 and hailstorms blowing in your lug — which 

 you reach despairing. But grouse soup is a 

 wonderful restorative. After such a day and 



