98 MEMORIES OF GLENAUGH. 



my waterproof coat, my famous boots anointed 

 with the impervious unguent, during the next 

 couple of hours ? Joe thinks I am mad as I 

 envelop myself in these startling wrappers, 

 and, with loaded gun, sally up the steep of 

 Glenaugh. 



Jack Sullivan gazes after me speechless with 

 surprise at my foolhardiness. 



The first dash into the wet was pleasant 

 enough. The wind and rain smiting me full 

 in the face caused me to put one shoulder for- 

 ward, as it were, to meet the next buffet. I 

 scarce expected to have a shot indeed, it was 

 almost impossible to see beyond a distance of 

 twenty yards. 



Hark ! The call of a golden plover 

 almost at my ear. I glance round ; there is 

 no sign of the bird ; but again the querulous 

 pipe sounds, and this time I look up and 

 see a single plover wheeling a few feet above 

 my head. 



The gun gives out a short dull report, and 

 the smoke hangs round the muzzle like a 

 grey veil, when I pick up the strayed wanderer. 

 Perhaps the stand is in the neighbourhood. 



