Page:Life Story of an Otter.djvu/125

Rh rose, pool and stream catch the foreglow, the reflection in the tarn is like an almond grove in bloom, and the sun shows below the crimson streaks that had heralded it. At the sight Grylls returns the glass to his pocket and, feeling chilled, jumps to his feet and walks briskly up and down on the rim of the great basin to warm himself.

Had he seen an otter he would by this be crossing the moor to meet the squire and tell, instead of pacing to and fro waiting for the hounds and glancing down now and again towards the spot where he expects to see them. It is full day by this, and river and tributary stream stretch across the purple moorland like golden threads. 'Grand mornin'. Ah! if we can only find!' he sighed, as the uncertainty of the sport flashed across his mind. 'If! But there, man, 'tes no use iffin'. Wait and hope for the best.' All at once the harbourer stopped and, screwing up his eyes, looked steadily towards the solitary clump of pines to which from time to time he had directed his gaze. 'Here they come, and a good few with 'em. Ah! ah! and there's one, two, three, four comin' up-river, and Matthey—it caan't be anybody else—crossing the foord. There 'll be a brave little meet to