12 ANDY COTTER. 



operations by transferring the game bag to the 

 broad shoulders of his guide. 



We are soon on the higher steeps of Knock- 

 nagow, knee-deep in broom. Close to the 

 boundary cairn is a circular lakelet, not unlike 

 the crater of an extinct volcano. Towards the 

 edge of this we creep with the utmost caution, 

 stopping for a moment to seek some oral evi- 

 dence that our quarry is on the water. A 

 slight exclamation of pain as a thorn runs into 

 the leg of the fowler startles a vigilant teal from 

 its surface, and the pretty little bird springs up 

 with an alarmed flutter and wheels cautiously 

 out of distance, but decides that all is safe, and 

 returns to its resting-place. Nevertheless, sus- 

 pecting that bigger game may be had, the 

 fowler stops in his ascent in order to allay sus- 

 picion of his approach. Hark to the inter- 

 mittent wild clamour of a pack of foxhounds 

 far down the other side of Knocknagow : 



" Matched in mouth-like bells 

 Each under each." 



The noise of the chase has a queer dim sound, 

 now a frolicsome outburst and full chorus, now 

 the challenge of a single dog, a long reach of joy- 



