48 FROM SPRING TO FALL. 



the bogs, are to be avoided. The spot is very 

 beautiful and very lonely, and that is the reason 

 we visit it, but one would not wish to stay there. 

 Dull thoughts, however, must be left behind ; for 

 we are in search of a creature that is the feathered 

 embodiment of active joyous life, the sandpiper, 

 or fiddler, as the bird is called. 



The trout shoot like arrows up the stream in 

 front of us as we march along. We shall come 

 to a pool presently, and then must very cautiously 

 examine it. 



Here it is ; only there is nothing but trout to 

 be seen merrily rising in all directions ; the pool is 

 alive with them, but as we have not come to fish, 

 we move on. Green ferns, waxen -leaved whortle 

 shrubs, and heather, are all around, and the moor 

 is plentifully sprinkled with stunted firs. It is no 

 use to look here, so on we go, following up the 

 stream. The sound of falling water reaches us ; 

 it is the natural overflow from the pool above,— 

 the largest pool on the moor, one side of which 

 is bordered by the whitest glistening sand that 

 has been washed down there from above by the 

 feeding stream. It is just a moorland mirror, 



