l, he would gladly have given even his books for such a ploy.

"There's ae thing, mither," he said, entering the kitchen, covered
with mud, a rabbit in one hand and a large salmon in the other,
"we're no like to sterve, wi' sawmon i' the hedges, an' mappies i'
the trees!"

His master questioned him with no little incredulity. It was easy
to believe in salmon anywhere, but rabbits in trees!

"I catched it i' the brainches o' a lairick (larch)," Donal
answered, "easy eneuch, for it cudna rin far, an' was mair fleyt at
the watter nor at me; but for the sawmon, haith I was ower an' ower
wi' hit i' the watter, efter I gruppit it, er' I cud ca' 't my ain."

Before the flood subsided, not a few rabbits were caught in trees,
mostly spruce-firs and larches. For salmon, they were taken
everywhere--among grass, corn, and potatoes, in bushes, and hedges,
and cottages. One was caught on a lawn with an umbrella; one was
reported to have been found in a press-bed; another, coiled round in
a pot hanging from the crook--ready to be boiled, only that he was
alive and undressed.

Donal was still being cross-questioned by his master when the
strange woman re-entered. Lying upon her straw, she had seen,
through the fanlight over the stable door, the swiftness of the
current there passing, and understood the danger.

"I doobt," she said, addressing no one in particular, "the ga'le o'
the stable winna stan' abune anither half-hoor."

"It maun fa' than," said the farmer, taking a pinch of snuff in
hopeless serenity, and turning away.

"Hoots!" said the woman, "dinna speyk that gait, sir. It's no
wice-like. Tak a dram, an' tak hert, an' dinna fling the calf efter
the coo. Whaur's yer boatle, sir?"

John paid no heed to her suggestion, but Jean took it up.

"The boatle's whaur ye s' no lay han' upo' 't," she said.

"Weel, gien ye hae nae mercy upo' yer whusky, ye sud hae some upo'
yer horse-beasts, ony gait," said the woman indignantly.

"What mean ye by that?" returned Jean, with hard voice, and eye of
blame.

"Ye might at the leest gie the puir things a chance," the woman
rejoined.

"Hoo wad ye dee that?" said Jean. "Gien ye lowsed them they wad but
tak to the watter wi' fear, an' droon the seener."

"Na, na, Jean," interposed the farmer, "they wad tak care o'
themsel's to the last, an' aye haud to the dryest, jist as ye wad
yersel'."

"Allooin'," said the stranger, replying to Jean, yet speaking rather
as if t