r came out from the kennels. "Oh, it's
you, Speug--and what are you doin' in the woods the day? there's no eggs
now." For sporting people are a confederacy, and there was not a
coachman or groom, or keeper or ratcatcher, within twelve miles of
Muirtown, who did not know Mr. McGuffie senior, and not many who did not
also have the acquaintance of his hopeful son.

"Nestie and me were just out for a run to keep our wind richt, an' we
cam on a man and three boys among the pheasants in the low park."

"Among the what? Meddlin' with Lord Kilspindie's birds?"

"Well, I dinna ken if they were juist poachin', but they were feedin'
them, and we saw a net."

"Sandie," shouted the head keeper, "and you, Tom, get up out of yir beds
this meenut; the poachers are after the pheasants. My word, takin' them
alive, as I'm a livin' man, to sell them for stock: and broad daylight;
it beats everything. He 'ill be an old hand, frae Dundee maist likely.
And the impidence o't, eleven o'clock in the forenoon an' the end o'
September. Dod: it's a depairture in poachin'." And as the sight of Mr.
Byles burst on his view, surrounded by trustful birds, and the two
Dowbiggins trying very feebly to drop the net on a specially venturesome
one, the head keeper almost lost the power of speech.

"Dinna let us interrupt you," and Mr. Byles looked up to see three armed
keepers commanding their helpless party, and one of them purple with
rage. "I hope we don't intrude; maybe we could give you a hand in
catchin' the birds, and if a spring-cart would be of ony use ...
confound your cheek!

"Gathering flowers, are ye, and gave the pheasants a biscuit, did ye,
and the boys thought they would like to stroke one, would they? How is
that, lads? I've seen two or three poachers in my time, but for
brazen-faced lyin' I've never seen your match. Maybe you're a
Sabbath-school out for a trip, or an orphan asylum?

"Assistant mathematical master at the Seminary, that's what you are, is
it, ye awfu' like blackguard, an' the laddies are the sons o' a
respectable Free Kirk minister, the dirty dogs? Are ye sure ye're no'
the principal o' Edinburgh University? Tak' yir time and try again. I'm
enjoying it. Is't by the hundred ye sell them, and wud it be a leeberty
to ask for whose preserves? Dash the soople tongue o' ye.

"If ye dare to put yir hand in a pocket, I'll lodge a charge o' shot in
ye: we'ill hae nae pistol-work in Kilspindie Woods. Come along wi' ye,
profess