The Hunting Year 



submerged by the wear and tear of ages. Then 

 there is a stream to cross and then you have to 

 leave Hangman's Hollow, of which you have 

 never heard in your life before, so the name 

 conveys no meaning to you, on your right ; and 

 then you must keep straight on, and if you 

 don't go wrong you will be on the road in 

 another two miles. 



So you keep to the track for a mile and hit 

 off the broken Scottish fir, and get on to the 

 causeway and cross the brook, and leave a cir- 

 cular hole, evidently the remains of some long- 

 forgotten worship, from the big stones round it, 

 on your right, and guess that it is Hangman's 

 Hollow, and go on straight as you can in search 

 of the high road and comfort. But as you 

 cross the end of Hangman's Hollow, the mists 

 begin to come rolling out of the valleys, and 

 you are soon enveloped in a driving damp fog, 

 which wets you through in no time, and which 

 also makes it difficult to see where you are 

 going. There is nothing to direct you now, 

 only an indistinct kind of path which can 



scarcely even be dignified by the name of a 



162 



