ts. She has also half-filled several huge books
with gummed-in specimens innumerable, though I can't see that she does
more than write their names below them."

"And that is no small advance in the science, let me tell you," returned
Barret, who was stirred up to defend his co-scientist. "No one can
succeed in anything who does not take the first steps, and undergo the
drudgery manfully."

"Womanfully, in this case, my friend; but do not imagine that I
underrate my little niece. My remark was to the effect that I do not
see that she _does_ more, though I have no manner of doubt that her
pretty little head _thinks_ a great deal more. Now we will get up here,
as the road is more level for a bit. D'you see the group of alders down
in the hollow yonder, where the little stream that runs through the
valley takes a sudden bend? There's a deep pool there, where a good
many sea-trout congregate. You shall try it soon--that is, if you care
for fishing."

"Oh, yes, I like fishing," said Barret. "It is a quiet, contemplative
kind of sport."

"Contemplative!" exclaimed the old gentleman with a laugh; "well, yes,
it is, a little. Sometimes you get down into the bed of the stream with
considerable difficulty, and you have to contemplate the banks a long
time, occasionally, before deciding as to which precipice is least
likely to give you a broken neck. Yes, it is a contemplative sport. As
to quiet, that depends very much on what your idea of quietude may be.
Our burn descends for two or three miles in succession of leaps and
bounds. If the roaring of cataracts is quieting to you, there is no end
of it down there. See, the pool that I speak of is partly visible now,
with the waterfall above it. You see it?"

"Yes, I see it."

"We call it Mac's pool," continued the laird, driving on, "because it is
a favourite pool of an old school companion of mine, named MacRummle,
who is staying with us just now. He tumbles into it about once a week."

"Is that considered a necessary part of the process of fishing?" asked
Barret.

"No, it may rather be regarded as an eccentric addition peculiar to
MacRummle. The fact is, that my good friend is rather too old to fish
now; but his spirit is still so juvenile, and his sporting instincts are
so keen, that he is continually running into dangerous positions and
getting into scrapes. Fortunately he is very punctual in returning to
meals; so if he fails to appear at the right time