Nov. 5, 1910.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
753 
what reluctantly I did so. For the moment the 
desire for warmth and food had fled. There 
was an atmosphere of constraint, not to say 
suspicion, on both sides, which did not make 
for comfort. I mentally resolved never to be 
enticed again by the light of a cottage window. 
Placing my gun in a corner by the fire, I 
sat down upon a stool, and looked across at 
my host, who had also seated himself. He was 
a small man, round-shouldered and old. PI is 
face was shaven, but a fringe of gray whiskers 
met under his chin, and one eye had an un¬ 
pleasant cast. The woman’s face bore a strong 
resemblance to his, even to the squint, and I 
subsequently learnt that they were brother and, 
sister. Long exposure to the weather, and 
living continually in an atmosphere of peat 
smoke, had tanned and wrinkled their faces to 
an extraordinary degree; but, as the woman 
busied herself with the kettle and fire, I became 
convinced that their peculiar, suspicious atti¬ 
tude, which had communicated itself to me, was 
the result of shyness and solitude; and looking 
back over the years since first I made their ac¬ 
quaintance, it is difficult to realize that I 
should ever have thought them anything but 
the kindly, hospitable folk, they were. The im¬ 
pression made by this first visit was a strong 
one, and its influence took a long time to wear off. 
Over the chimney piece hung an old muzzle¬ 
loading gun, and though the dust lay thick, it 
was well oiled, and had the air of being cared 
for—occasionally. As conversation slowly be¬ 
came possible, I asked the old man whether he 
had ever followed the shore shooting. His eye 
lightened up at once, and it was evident I had 
at last struck a responsive note. He told me 
how he used to shoot in days gone by, but that 
now it was not worth while. As he said this he 
glanced at my half-filled bag with a questioning 
look, so I turned out its contents for him to 
see. There were several ducks, some curlews, 
a golden plover or two, and some knots. I 
was well content with the day’s sport, but the 
old man looked pityingly upon me, as one who 
had been born when the world was no longer 
any good. 
While I drank my tea he told me the follow¬ 
ing story: It’ll mebbe be twenty years syne 
that we had a vera hard winter. It was the 
greatest storm o’ frost that I ha’e mind o’, and 
it lasted near aboot three months. The deuks 
and geese were maist awfu’ plentiful. Mony’s 
the day I ha’e carried hame as monv as I had 
strength to bear. There was nae waiting for a 
shot that winter. I could scarce load the auld 
gun quick eneugh. Ye see the lochs were 
frozen, and the burns were naething but a wee 
bit trickle o’ water, bridged ower wi’ ice. There 
were big lumps o’ ice lyin’ on the shore a’ 
aboot, that a man could hide behind. A’weres 
was frozen. The sea itsel’ was covered ower 
wi’ ice slush, and this was left by the tide on 
rocks and sand where it froze hard. There was 
naewhere for the birds to feed, excepting an 
odd bit pool amang the rocks, or mebbe a sma’ 
trickle o’ water rinnin’ ower the sand here and 
there. They were sae restless that a body had 
jist to sit still ahin a lump o’ ice and shoot 
them as they flew past. It was that cauld that 
mony a time my fingers froze to the gun: an’ 
whiles I couldna pit the cap on the nipple till I 
had sat half an ’oor wi’ my hands in my pouches 
to warm them. 
“Weel, ae morning when I went oot jist at 
daylicht. I creepit doon alang the burn till I 
deuks. I creepit doon alang the burn till I 
cam’ near the sea. The tide was ebbin’, an’ the 
mooth o’ the burn was jist crammed wi’ deuks 
—fair black wi’ them it was. I niver saw aucht 
like it afore. I couldna see hoo I was to get to 
them wi’oot them seein’ me, for the shore was 
bare an’ flat where the burn ran doon. At last 
I noticed there was a bend atween me an’ the 
deuks, an’ if I could get room that, I wad be 
near eneuch. There was naething for’t but jist 
to get doon into the burn, and here, where the 
tide had been, there was .only broken ice, so I 
jist had to wade in the water. My certy, but 
it was cauld! 
“Weel, I creepit doon cannily, cornin’ oot 
days of muzzleloaders, but the name of the 
BALLI STITE 
Wins the AMATEUR HONORS at the 
MISSOURI TRAPSHOOTERS’ STATE TOURNAMENT, 
Kansas City, Oct. 25-27, 1910. 
HIGH AMATEUR AVERAGE ON ALL TARGETS 
Won by 
T. M. EHLER with 414 ex 460. 
MISSOURI HANDICAP, 
Won by 
T. M. EHLER with 81 ex 100 from 21 Yard Mark. 
SHOOT 
BALLISTITE 
AND BE CONVINCED. 
CHARLES 
DALY 
Single Barrel Trap Gun 
T HIS gun, as are all Dalys, is the result of careful thought, practical knowledge and perfect 
workmanship. 
QUALITY STANDS OUT BOLDLY ON THIS GUN 
This gun embodies all the features of an ideal Trap Gun. The first essential in a trap gun is a flat 
sighting surface, perfectly aligned. The Ventilated Rib gives this and more—it eliminates heat 
radiation. Other features are the specially designed fore-end, extra heavy breech, and all the fine 
points found in all Daly Guns. THE GUN FOR THE TRAP SHOOTER. 
Schovecting Daly & Gale^; 
302-304 Broadway 
New York City 
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>:>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> 
ANGLING MEMORIES 
Seasonable Books for the Sportsman’s Library 
MEN I HAVE FISHED WITH 
MY ANGLING FRIENDS 
Both by FRED MATHER 
These two volumes are a source of endless delight to the fisherman. 
They 
deal with every phase of the gentle sport from bent pins and willow poles to 
salmon flies and special rods-—with every kind of fish as well. 
They are full of a quaint philosophy, written with a rare appreciation of human 
nature, and comprising sketches of angling “characters” as well as well-known men 
who were Mr. Mather’s brethren of the angle. Much of other sport and adventure 
beside fishing will be found between the covers of these books. These two large, 
splendidly bound, splendidly printed, and richly illustrated volumes of 400 pages 
each regularly sell for $2 each. While they last we offer 
Both together, postpaid, for $3.00 
FOREST AND STREAM PUBLISHING COMPANY, NEW YORK 
