ked off and your eyes torn out
at the beginning of our holiday?"

"Not if I can help it, George; but I mean to run the risk--I mean to
cultivate that old woman."

"Hallo! hi!" shouted their father from below, while he tapped at the
window with the end of a fishing-rod. "Look alive there, boys, else
we'll have breakfast without you."

"Ay, ay, father!" Fred was up in a moment.

About two hours later, father and sons sallied out for a day's sport,
George with a fowling-piece, Fred with a sketch-book, and Mr Sudberry
with a fishing-rod, the varnish and brass-work on which, being perfectly
new, glistened in the sun.

"We part here, father," said George, as they reached a rude bridge that
spanned the river about half a mile distant from the White House. "I
mean to clamber up the sides of the Ben, and explore the gorges. They
say that ptarmigan and mountain hares are to be found there."

The youth's eye sparkled with enthusiasm; for, having been born and bred
in the heart of London, the idea of roaming alone among wild rocky glens
up among the hills, far from the abodes of men, made him fancy himself
little short of a second Crusoe. He was also elated at the thought of
firing at _real_ wild birds and animals--his experiences with the gun
having hitherto been confined to the unromantic practice of a
shooting-gallery in Regent Street.

"Success to you, George," cried Mr Sudberry, waving his hand to his
son, as the latter was about to enter a ravine.

"The same to you, father," cried George, as he waved his cap in return,
and disappeared.

Five minutes' walk brought them to the hut of the poor old woman, whose
name they had learned was Moggy.

"This, then, is my goal," said Fred, smiling. "I hope to scratch in the
outline of the interior before you catch your first trout."

"Take care the old woman doesn't scratch out your eyes, Fred," said the
father, laughing. "Dinner at five--_sharp_, remember."

Fred entered the hovel, and Mr Sudberry, walking briskly along the road
for a quarter of a mile, diverged into a foot-path which conducted him
to the banks of the river, and to the margin of a magnificent pool where
he hoped to catch his first trout.

And now, at last, had arrived that hour to which Mr Sudberry had long
looked forward with the most ardent anticipation. To stand alone on a
lovely summer's day, rod in hand, on the banks of a Highland stream, had
been the ambition of the worthy merchant ever sinc