XXXV 



THERE may be doubtless there are forms of phy- 

 sical anguish more excruciating than a A Hard Day 

 gumboil ; but for sheer disabling misery on ^ e Hm 

 there can be but few to beat it. I had writhed through 

 the night, with such snatches of sleep as throb- 

 bing temples and burning jaw would allow me to 

 take, when a relentless rapping on the door by a 

 crepuscular housemaid made me aware that it was 

 five o'clock. Could I face it ? ' It ' was a hasty toilet 

 (shaving in the condition of my poor face was not to 

 be thought of), such food by way of breakfast as I 

 might swallow without mastication, and a ride of 

 several miles on a hill pony (eight, if I recollect aright, 

 but there were no milestones) to the place appointed 

 overnight for me to meet the stalker. The pain and 

 discomfort, methought, could not be greater in the 

 open air than among the blankets ; the late September 

 daybreak wore its most winning aspect, so up I got, 

 dressed for the hill, swallowed some porridge and a 

 cup of coffee, and climbed into the saddle. 



My route lay along part of the ancient bridle-path 

 that winds its westward way from Kinloch Rannoch 

 through the Black Corries, past the old bleak little 



