242 HAPPY HUNTING-GROUNDS 



our way home, and I felt that I had accomplished 

 something of a feat for a sexagenarian when I changed 

 my heavy boots for slippers in the gun-room. The 

 next day the drifts were so deep that the coach was 

 unable to run between Kilmartin and Ardrishaig, and 

 we had to go without our mail. On the following day 

 some of the party, whose holiday-time was over, only 

 just managed, with two horses in a light dogcart, to 

 struggle over to the pier in time for the boat ; but the 

 road a little beyond Kilmichael bridge was still blocked 

 by a huge drift, which had to be circumvented by 

 taking the trap into the meadow to the right, between 

 the road and Dun-a-Muich, driving in at one gate 

 and out at the other. 



After the three regular days' shooting were over, 

 there still remained those hardly less delightful days 

 when, with my two nephews, accompanied only by 

 two or three keepers and a couple of spaniels, we de- 

 voted our attention to trying to mop up some of the 

 remaining old cock pheasants and any stray wood- 

 cocks that happened to have come in. Twenty 

 pheasants was the maximum hoped for, but each bird 

 killed represented a triumph, for it was impossible for 

 the guns to cover the ground, and only a tithe of the 

 birds seen presented themselves within shot. Few 

 birds are more "leary" than a real old wild cock 

 pheasant when he has been beaten for a few times. 

 One day when the keepers were busy and we wanted 

 to walk, we made our way to Ballimore, accompanied 

 by only one gillie, and had a very successful drive 

 from the field on the right-hand, over the road. We 

 saw nearly a dozen old cocks feeding in the roots, and 

 our one beater was able to put them over the guns so 



