As I sat on a chair near the door, weary after my long tramp with
the heavy burden of silver and the dead hawk, and somewhat bruised
by my fight, Mr. Drever and the captain engaged in a long
conversation relating to the Orkneys. But during an interval of
their talk I ventured to draw the schoolmaster's attention to the
dead bird that I had brought for him.
"We caught this bird over on the moor the day, sir," I said, "and I
brought it, thinking ye'd like to put it in one o' your glass
cases."
"Man, Halcro, but that's a bonny specimen! A harrier, a hen
harrier, I declare! 'Deed but it will be a right fine addition to
our collection. And what way did ye kill it, d'ye say? Not wi' a
gun, surely?"
"No; it was flying after a peewit, and the dog caught it. Willie
Hercus thrawed its neck."
"Well, well, that's most amazing. How I wish I'd been with you. I'd
rather hae caught a harrier than a hundred sea trout."
"Did ye get some good fishing at the Bush, sir?" I asked, changing
the subject.
"Oh, ay, very good, very good; thanks to those hooks o' yours,
Halcro. I left a dozen trout wi' Jack Paterson's wife, and a dozen
wi' Mary Firth, and these I brought home. That's no sae bad, is
it?"
Then, when he had satisfied his admiration of the dead hawk, he
took us into the schoolroom, to show the captain his cases of
stuffed birds and animals.
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