LIFE AT ROSEHALL. 43 



Below me there was a capital Hat for deer, a long sloping 

 valley with a winding burn tiowing through the middle, along the 

 banks of which were grassy spots where they constantly fed. I 

 searched this long and carefully with my glass, but saw nothing 

 excepting a few small companies of sheep which were feeding in 

 different flocks about the valley. So famous, however, was this 

 place as the resort of deer, that I took good care not to show 

 myself, and crawled carefully into a hollow run, which, leading to 

 the edge of the burn, would enable me to walk almost unseen for 

 a long distance, and I thought that there might still be deer 

 feeding in some bend of the watercourse, where they had escaped 

 iny search. Before I had walked many hundred yards down the 

 course of the burn, I saw such traces as convinced me they had 

 been feeding there within a few hours ; so, arranging my plaid 

 and rifle I walked stealthily and slowly onwards, expecting to 

 see them every moment. The nature of the ground was such 

 that I might come on them quite unperceived ; the dog, too, 

 showed symptoms of scenting something, putting his nose to the 

 tracks and then looking wistfully in my face, watching every 

 movement of my rifle. The inquiring expression of his face was 

 perfect ; whenever I stopped to look over or around some pro- 

 jecting angle of rock, he kept his eyes fixed on my face, as if to 

 read in it whether my search was successful or not. A deer- 

 stalker in the situation I was in would make a good subject for 

 a painter. I wound my way silently and slowly through the 

 broken rock and stone which formed the bed of the burn, showing 

 in their piled-up confusion that the water must at some times 

 rage and rush with the fury and power of an Alpine torrent, 

 though now it danced merrily along, rippling through the stones 

 and forming tiny pools here and there where it had not strength 

 enough to break through the accumulated sand and gravel which 

 dammed up its feeble stream. Dressed in gray, and surrounded 

 with gray stone on every side, I was as little conspicuous as it 

 was possible to be, and there was just enough ripple in the stream 

 and its thousand miniature cascades to drown the sound of my 

 footsteps, whenever I inadvertently put my foot on any stone 



