CHAP, xxii.] HEAVY RAIN FLOODS. 181 



and in five minutes I was as wet as if I liad been swimming 

 through the river. We saw the burns we had to cross in our way 

 home tumbling in foaming torrents down the hill-sides. In the 

 morning we had stepped across them without wetting our feet. 

 The first one that we came to I looked at with wonder. Instead 

 of a mere thread of crystal water, creeping rather than flowing 

 through the stones which filled its bed, we had to wade through 

 a roaring torrent, which was carrying in its course pieces of turf, 

 heather, and even large stones. We crossed with some difficulty, 

 holding by each other's collars. Two or three burns we passed 

 in this manner, the rain still continuing, and if possible increasing. 

 I looked round at my companion, and was only prevented from 

 laughing at his limp and rueful countenance by thinking that he 

 probably had just as much cause for merriment in my appearance. 

 The poor hound was perfectly miserable, as she followed me with 

 the rain running in streams down her long ears. 



After some time we came opposite the shealing where we had 

 been with the shepherds in the morning. And here my com- 

 panion said that he must leave me, having particular business 

 with the other men, who had come on purpose to meet him there. 

 He warned me to be very careful in crossing the burns, as, if 1 

 once lost my footing in any of them, I should probably never get 

 up again. 



Off I tramped through the sodden ground. I managed the 

 first burn pretty well. But the next one was wider, and, if pos- 

 sible, more rapid. 1 had no stick to sound its depth, but saw 

 that it was too strong to venture into ; so I turned up its course, 

 hoping it would get narrower and shallower higher up. Its banks 

 were steep and rocky, and covered in some parts with hazel and 

 birch. On a withered branch of one of the latter was a large 

 buzzard, sitting mournfully in the rain, and uttering its shrill, 

 wild cry, a kind of note between a whistle arid a scream. The 

 bird wit so tamely, that in a pet I determined to try if I could 

 not stop his ominous-sounding voice with a rifle-ball. But, after 

 taking a most deliberate aim at him, the copper cap snapped. 

 I tried another with equally bad success. So I had to continue 

 my way, leaving the bird where he was. I could find no place 

 in the burn that was fordable for some distance; and I said to 

 myself, " If I had but a stick to sound the water with !" The 



