THE HERON 301 



the west it is a cold steel-grey above, with a glow like 

 that of the northern lights resting on the crests of the 

 distant hills. For once he places caution on one side; 

 one ring round directly over our head, and then he 

 drops and folds his wings by the edge of a bit of water 

 that is not frozen because it runs sharply over some 

 shallows. The grey and white fisher has come here for 

 his supper, knowing well that when waters are ice- 

 bound, the fish will work up to any open piece of water, 

 or even to a small hole broken through the ice, for air. 

 They must have air ; even eels, which are supposed to be 

 able to live anyhow or anywhere. 



To prevent him rising I take a wide range out in the 

 water meadows, frozen down nearly two feet in depth ; 

 but I might just as well have been saved the trouble for 

 a lot of rooks that have been trying to stock out a last 

 scanty meal before roosting, from some manure heaps 

 that have been placed there to dress the meadow for the 

 hay crop come for him as one bird, and the lonely 

 fisher is up and away again to his sanctuary in the fir 

 trees." * 



* ''A Son of the Marslie*/' 



