CHAPTER XVII. 



THE DUCKS AT IvAST. 



S I approach the task of telling about the Balnagown shooting I 

 am wondering how I can best make you realize what I felt 

 about it. How perfect it all was. It was so novel, it gave me 

 such a number of different sensations, so many of them new. 



I was able to fire hundreds of shots from my shotguns in a day with- 

 out even a slight feeling that I was taking shooting from some one 

 else, and the companionship offered me by my host, whose lady wife 

 had departed to leave us a Bachelor's Hall, and his three Scotch 

 friends, completed a scenario, a caste and scenery incomparable. 



The three Scotch baronets and the other charming Scotch gentleman 

 without title, who were to make up the five guns for this three days' 

 shoot were as delightful men as one could encounter in many days' 

 travel. They had knocked about more or less all over the world. 

 Their views were interesting to me because they had varying and dif- 

 ferent viewpoints. They were perfect sportsmen and marvelously good 

 shots. 



They told me nine o'clock was the hour for our first day to begin 

 and, looking at my watch as I stepped out of the front door, I saw it 

 read two minutes scant of that hour. Beyond the rourd, gray, ivy- 

 swathed tower on the right the loaders, alert and expectant, were 

 waiting for their principals to come out. Hands to caps, they gave me 

 a pleasant "Good morning, Sir." 



I was the first of the guns on the ground. Campbell, head-keeper, 

 came soon, and shortly after, the other four. Then we made over to 

 where I was told we would have a "bit" of rabbit shooting. This 

 rabbit shooting was extra-special, as I found out later. 



Campbell had a way with him when it came to rabbits, his notion 

 being that you ought to concentrate as much rabbit shooting in as little 

 space of time and ground as you could possibly manage. 



