he was right: they were returning and becoming more and more distinct every minute. 'Hoorah,' he shouted in his exultation; 'the otter must have come up-water laast night; wheere's he lyin', wonder.' His eyes, almost starting from his head, followed the pack as it drew nearer and nearer to Moor Pool. They reached it; then he was all anxiety to see whether they would take up the tributary or keep to the river. Like a man toeing the line for a foot-race he stood ready to start, and if they had gone up the stream he would have descended the hill at breakneck speed; but they did not: they came on. 'Niver such a bit of luck in all my born days,' said he, his weather-beaten face beaming with delight. Presently, as the deep bay, like the bay of blood-hounds, reached his ears: 'What moosic! how wild and savage and grand it is! eh, and what a sight for one pair of eyes! The squire 'd give gold to be in my shoes.' Not for a single instant did the harbourer divert his gaze from the pack. 'Pretty, pretty,' he kept saying as the hounds, time after time, recovered the line momentarily lost. 'They're travellin' fast. It's time to be going down. I'll lay a groat the otter's in the Kieve.' With a bound he was off and, following the overflow, had just reached the big boulder
