CATALOGUE OF BIRDS. 71 



Poor old Sandy is gone, and I should be sorry to 

 throw doubt on any of his statements, but still I can 

 scarcely credit the latter part of his story, as Sandy 

 dearly loved his native mountain dew. 



We had been rather more than an hour sitting under 

 the shelter of the rock with all the dogs gathered round 

 us, when a colly, which had been lying within a yard 

 of my feet, got up, shook the wet from his coat, and 

 lay down again, this time changing his position by 

 about a foot. He now chose the brown back of a 

 female Ptarmigan to recline upon, which, causing a 

 great flutter, startled the dog as much as the bird 

 herself. 



On her flying off we discovered she had been sitting 

 on eight eggs. The nest was within a couple of yards 

 of the spot where we had sat for more than an hour, 

 and it was a wonder, with so many dogs about, that 

 some of them had not stumbled on her sooner. As 

 this bird would be the most perfect, I determined to 

 obtain her instead of the one which had been, caught 

 by the terrier. 



It was now getting late, so, after a parting glass, 

 the fox-hunters left us and proceeded home ; the head 

 keeper kindly telling me I might shoot as many 

 Ptarmigan (although, of course, out of season) as I 

 wanted. 



I was not so much surprised at his generosity when 

 I afterwards learned that we were at least half a mile 

 on the ground of his Kannoch friend, to whom I am 

 indebted for my case of Ptarmigan and nest. 



It had now become so thick and dark, that I could 

 hardly see a gunshot ahead of me. 



In order to give the female a chance to return to 



