CHAPTER XIV 

 CHILL OCTOBER 



A FINE crisp morning, with a touch of white 

 frost on the ground. What is to be the order 

 of the day? The river will not fish, as there 

 has been no rain to speak of for the last three 

 days, and the tide will be in the lower pools ; 

 so we must go into the gunroom and consult 

 Robert Brodie, the keeper. 



What a typical snuggery was the old gun- 

 room at Poltalloch ! the cedar cupboards con- 

 taining every variety of weapon in use during 

 the past forty years, representing the progress of 

 arms of precision from ancient muzzle-loading 

 guns and rifles to the latest hammerless ejectors 

 and expresses ; and of fishing-rods and reels, 

 from weather-beaten hickory joints and weird 

 multiplying brass winches with huge projecting 

 handles, to the latest triumph of the most cele- 

 brated London, Alnwick, or Irish makers. 



In the centre of the mantelpiece hangs a 

 trophy from Canada a huge moose's head, with 

 each flat horn big enough to make a comfort- 

 able seat, back and all ; while underneath it is 



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