OVER THE BORDER 55 
Quiet, broken by—or rather enhanced by— 
the call of the curlew, is in. that vale, through 
which runs the clean, wholesome water of the 
Ettrick, bordered by its high hills. To those 
who value seclusion when fishing, as many do, 
this valley must appeal strongly. They need 
entertain little apprehension of being “ ghosted,” 
as one writer calls it.* Only once, when at a far 
end, was I interrupted. I was wading in the river 
at a point where a hedgeless track ran alongside. 
Suddenly a greeting came: “Good morning, sir ; 
hope you are having good luck!” The voice 
came from a man of the road, a pedlar, evidently, 
for he had upon his shoulders a pack full of wares. 
He was bright-eyed, looking hale and hearty. It 
was a quiet interval, and I was not displeased for 
communication with the outer world thus to be 
restored, Instinctively perceiving this and scenting 
business he said persuasively, “I saw you fishing 
down below, yesterday, sir, but I did not like to 
speak to you.” He was now willing to make up 
for lost time. Asked whence he came, he replied : 
“Owd’um.” Invited to enumerate his wares, a 
quick look of pleasure appeared on his face. He 
was now doing Business. Soft-collar fasteners 
promised usefulness. ‘The price of these collar 
fasteners is threepence each,” said the merchant, 
adding confidentially : “‘ And you would have to 
pay sixpence each for them in many places.” Two 
collar fasteners, at threepence each, were purchased, 
* Major G, E, Sharp in “Fly Leaves from a Fisherman’s 
Diary.” 
