Hunting in the S el kirks. 135 



much coral. Most difficult of all were the dry water- 

 courses, choked with alders, where the intertwined tangle 

 of tough stems formed an almost literally impenetrable 

 barrier to our progress. Nearly every movement leap- 

 ing, climbing, swinging one's self up with one's hands, 

 bursting through stiff bushes, plunging into and out of 

 bogs was one of strain and exertion ; the fatigue was 

 tremendous, and steadily continued, so that in an hour 

 every particle of clothing I had on was wringing wet with 

 sweat. 



At noon we halted beside a little brook for a bite of 

 lunch a chunk of cold frying-pan bread, which was all 

 we had. 



While at lunch I made a capture. I was sitting on a 

 great stone by the edge of the brook, idly gazing at a 

 water-wren which had come up from a short flight I can 

 call it nothing else underneath the water, and was sing- 

 ing sweetly from a spray-splashed log. Suddenly a small 

 animal swam across the little pool at my feet. It was 

 less in size than a mouse, and as it paddled rapidly 

 underneath the water its body seemed flattened like a 

 disc and was spangled with tiny bubbles, like specks of 

 silver. It was a water-shrew, a rare little beast. I sat 

 motionless and watched both the shrew and the water- 

 wren water-ousel, as it should rightly be named. The 

 latter, emboldened by my quiet, presently flew by me to a 

 little rapids close at hand, lighting on a round stone, and 

 then slipping unconcernedly into the swift water. Anon 

 he emerged, stood on another stone, and trilled a few bars, 

 though it was late in the season for singing ; and then 



