CHAP. XXI.| DEATH OF MY FIRST STAG. 171 
missed him altogether, though he looked as large as an ox, 
and we saw him going at a steady gallop over the wide flat. 
Donald had out the glass immediately, and took a steady sight 
at him, but having watched the noble animal, as he galloped 
up the opposite slope and stood for two or three minutes on the 
summit, looking back intently at us, he shut up the telescope 
with a jerk that threatened to break every glass in it, and giving 
a grunt, vastly expressive of disgust, returned to the well, 
where he took along draught. His only remark at the time 
was, “ There’s no the like of that stag in the country ; weel do 
I mind seeing him last year when shooting ptarmigan up yonder, 
and nota bullet had I. The deil’s in the rifle, that she did na 
kill him; and he’ll cross the river before he stops.” It required 
some time and some whisky also, to restore Donald to his usual 
equanimity. 
This was on a Saturday. On the Monday following at a very 
early hour Donald appeared, and after his morning salute of 
“Tt’s a fine day, Sir,” he added, “There will be some deer 
about the west shoulder of the hill above Alt-na-cahr. When- 
ever the wind is in the airt it now is, they feed about the burn 
there.” We agreed to walk across to that part of the ground, 
and were soon en route. Bran galloped round us, baying 
joyously, as if he expected we should have good luck. We had 
not gone half a mile from the house, when we met one of the 
prettiest girls in the country, tripping along the narrow path, 
humming a Gaelie air, and looking bright and fresh as the 
morning. ‘‘ How are you all at home, Nanny, and how is your 
father getting on? does he see any deer on the hill?” said I; her 
father was a shepherd not far from the house, and she was then 
going down on some errand to my servants. ‘ We are all no’ 
that bad, thank you, Sir, except mother, who still has the trouble 
on her. Father says that he saw some hinds and a fine stag 
yesterday as he crossed the hill to the kirk ; they were feeding on 
the top of Alt-na-cahr, and did na mind hima bit.” 
Donald looked at me, with a look full of importance, at this 
confirmation of his prophecy. ‘‘ Deed, Sir, that’s a bonny lass, 
and as gude as she is bonny. It’s just gude luck our meeting 
her; if we had met that auld witch, her mother, not a beast would 
we have seen the day.” I have heard of Donald turning home 
