1 84 SHOOTING THE GROUSE 



range, no sign of a driver's flag, with the exception of 

 the two pointsmen not far off on our left, is visible. 



A hoarse exclamation, ' Lie down, will you ? ' from 

 a loader to his dog, comes to us faintly on the breeze 

 from the top butt ; a snatch of a skylark's song from 

 the pastures, an occasional bark from a sheep dog in 

 the valley, the single plaintive pipe of a young golden 

 plover, seeming to come now from the flat in front, now 

 from behind, and now from somewhere in the sky, are 

 all the sounds that reach our ears. All is deliciously 

 still, and the atmosphere, fragrant with heather buds 

 and stimulating to the nerves, the brightness and 

 purity of the light, with the enchanting prospect of 

 heath and fell, of mountain and cloud, of the peaceful 

 valley watered by a shining river, its humble interests 

 all clustered round the grey church tower and bridge 

 of the little market town two miles away and five 

 hundred feet below you, would be worth the journey 

 up here, even if grouse and shooting did not exist to 

 make it, to your eyes, complete. Faintly a very distant 

 rattle, the well-known music of the railway, catches 

 your ear, and there, creeping gently down towards 

 the town, is the little toy train, tracing its accurate 

 line in picturesque contrast to the windings of the 

 river, and giving with its long soft trail of snow-white 

 steam a new note of interest to the slumbering land- 



