THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER. 293 



Its softness meant tufts of tussock-grass over a 

 quaking bog. This I do not feel drawn towards, 

 so I come back, telling my informant that it is too 

 soft for me at any rate, and as my smile evidently 

 propitiates him, he tells me to take a path, not often 

 used except by the foresters, which will bring me into 

 the road quickly. 



" By that heap of fresh turned sand ? " I ask. 



" Yes, right by there. That's where I hucked a 

 badger out a short time back." 



In about twenty mirrutes I am once more on the 

 main track or forest-road, evidently at the back of 

 the spot where I turned in to explore the mound. 

 After walking up a track between low firs, I see 

 some one coming towards me, and getting near the 

 figure, it proves to be a grizzled old man, with a 

 large bundle of " heth " on his shoulders. Through 

 this he has driven a pointed birch pole or stake, 

 both hands clasping the long end of it. As the 

 light is getting a little dim, I ask the venerable 

 heth-cropper if I am in the right direction for the 



village of F , and how far I have to go before I 



can get there ? 



Very deliberately placing his pole on the ground 



