102 THE HAUNTED 



and through his chattering teeth he ex- 

 plained how he had lost some of his fish 

 in his headlong race across the moor to 

 escape the curse of the raven. Then, 

 with an imploring look at me, he en- 

 deavoured to suck another drop out of 

 the bottle long empty, and threw it 

 away with a sigh. But he brightened 

 and exclaimed, " Arglwydd Mawr ! " 

 (" Great Lord ! ") as he swallowed some 

 of the contents of my flask, and in rather 

 less than an hour we were heartily tack- 

 ling a breakfast in the village inn. The 

 fresh trout, firm and pinky, eggs and 

 bacon, and the appetite that only a 

 night's angling on the cold hills can pro- 

 vide, are not soon forgotten in after 

 years. And I am old-fashioned enough 

 to still love the real old " village pub." 

 for its own sake, notwithstanding the 

 musty atmosphere of the " parlour," 

 the awful whisky, and the casual man- 

 agement. While there is yet one re- 



