THE CHIEF TEMPTS ME 13 



As I leaned over the rail high above the bobbing tender which 

 was to take me ashore at Plymouth, a steward calling my name 

 proved to be the bearer of a letter from the Highlands. In it the 

 Chief said : "Waste no time. Come on as fast as steam will carry 

 you to the deer forest of Benmore where I await you, and where 

 the stags want shooting beyond all expression. You ought to need 

 no telling, though you may, that Scotch deer forests are the best in 

 the world and Benmore is not the worst of these. Hurry, hurry, 

 hurry. The deer are plentiful, the grouse and the pheasants and the 

 partridges are in abundance, and the ducks, though not so good as I 

 could wish, will still, I believe, give you all the sport you can wish 

 for. But of all things do not linger, because the season is now on, 

 and each day of delay is a day wasted." 



There were other things in the letter; what trains to take, where 

 to have my traps sent and a crowning word which said : "Come 

 quickly on; keen for the killing." 



England's green fields and close-cropped hedges never seemed more 

 fair to me, though the natives said the unparalleled dry season had 

 taken something from that indescribable freshness of color inseparably 

 associated in one's mind with the thought of the land of our British 

 cousins. 



London's roar was tuned to a more hearty welcome than ever, and 

 though I have always loved the big city by the Thames, one could 

 scarcely say I halted there. I merely hesitated on my way to Scotland, 

 to greet my family and to make a few necessary purchases before I 

 took the night express for Inverness. 



In the small, though comfortable and quite cosy Scotch sleeping 

 carriage I awoke early, and from my window caught my first welcome 

 glimpse of the Scotch hills; the Highlands at last. 



Scotland was a new land to me, or it should have been, but new it 

 never seemed. I awoke and gazed forth, not a stranger in a strange 

 land, but as one among familiar and longed for and well loved 

 surroundings. 



At Inverness I had breathing time and a breakfast hour before 

 the branch train which was to take me farther into the hills could 

 quite make up its mind to start. In the station hotel oat-meal 

 "parritch," with real cream, bacon and eggs real bacon you know 



