The Watcher by the Threshold
The Outgoing of the Tide

The Rime of True Thomas

Basilissa

Divus Johnston

The King of Ypres

[Pg 11]

[Pg 11]

THE WATCHER BY THE THRESHOLD

[Pg 13]

[Pg 13]

THE WATCHERBY THE THRESHOLD

I NO-MAN'S-LAND

I

NO-MAN'S-LAND

I: THE SHIELING OF FARAWA

It was with a light heart and a pleasing consciousness of holiday that I set out from the inn at Allermuir to tramp my fifteen miles into the unknown. I walked slowly, for I carried my equipment on my back—my basket, fly-books and rods, my plaid of Grant tartan (for I boast myself a distant kinsman of that house), and my great staff, which had tried ere then the front of the steeper Alps. A small valise with books and some changes of linen clothing had been sent on ahead in the shepherd's own hands. It was yet early April, and before me lay four weeks of freedom—twenty-eight blessed days in which to take fish and smoke the pipe of [Pg 14]idleness. The Lent term had pulled me down, a week of 
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