DAYS IN THE STUBBLES 55 



amounted to seven, mostly blackcock, and 

 fine old birds too ; bringing our bag up 

 to seventeen. A mysterious greyhen was 

 picked up also, and though I honestly dis- 

 claimed all knowledge of it alive or dead, it 

 being found within shot of my stand marked 

 me as the innocent culprit. As usual I sup- 

 pose, it had played me one of its silly tricks ; 

 mixed itself up with grouse and come in for 

 some stray pellets. However, my master was 

 gracious to be pleased enough with my after- 

 noon's work to pass the greyhen peccadillo 

 gently by. 



We wended our way home in the evening 

 light, having added one more delightful 

 memory of stocking hours to life's diary, and 

 with the words of the old song singing to us 



' O where hae ye been 



This bonnie summer e'en, 

 And what have ye heard that was worth your heed ? 



I heard the cushies croon 



Through the gowden' aifternoon, 

 And the Quair burn singing doon the Vale o' Tweed." 



