CHAPTER X. 



MY FIRST "TWELFTH." HOW i MISSED IT AND YET 



LOST NOTHING THEREBY. 



I HAD been a year in England on sick-leave, and my 

 health being completely restored, was beginning to 

 think once more of the wild sports of the East, when 

 one July morning I received a letter from my friend 



Jack M , asking me to join him on his paternal 



moors for the ensuing " Twelfth." 



Though I had from boyhood been familiar with 

 every form of English sport, it so happened that I had 

 at that time never had an opportunity of shooting 

 grouse, and the sport par excellence of Scotland re- 

 mained unknown to me till long after I had reached 

 manhood, and become familiar with the big game of 

 Asia and Africa. 



I need hardly say I accepted the invitation, only 

 too pleased at the chance of participating in a sport 

 which had so long been the object of my desires. 

 The moors in question were situated in the old 

 province of Galloway, and as I have always preferred 

 a sea voyage to a long and tedious railway journey, 

 I decided to take ship from Bristol. The " Twelfth " 

 falling on a Monday that year, I was invited to be at 

 my host's on the loth. I found there was a Clyde 



