GROUSE-BECKING 7 1 



side village is the local shoemaker, who loves to 

 narrate his experiences. It so fell out, he says, that 

 upon a certain day he started soon after midnight for 

 a favourite spot, distant about six miles from his 

 cottage, and situated in the very heart of a ' smittle ' 

 place for grouse. The track was ill defined, and he 

 seemed to be a long time in arriving at his destination. 

 When at length he reached the scene of his intended 

 operations, he sat down in the moss and waited for 

 the approach of the grey twilight. After long suspense 

 at last his ears were gladdened with the much-desired 

 challenge of an old cock grouse. He called in .answer, 

 and the bird responded and flew nearer and nearer, 

 until the exciting moment arrived when he saw the 

 moorfowl 'sit up' upon a prominent tuft of heather. 

 Taking a careful aim, as he thought, with his heavy 

 fowling-piece, he pulled the trigger, and, as he thought, 

 killed his bird. However, he was too old a hand to 

 show himself prematurely, and as his gun was only a 

 single muzzle-loader, he thought it best to reload before 

 he jumped up. But no sooner had he rammed a 

 fresh charge home than he looked up and spied the 

 bird sitting on the tuft of heather as before. He 

 concluded that he must have missed it after all, and 

 he took a second shot at it with a similar result. To 

 cut the story short, our hero fired nine successive 



