plentiful perhaps; but surely the "braw drink" was well bestowed, for
with it came the droll story, the playful attack and ready retort, the
cheerful laugh--always good humour. A dinner at Crathes was what the
then baronet, old Sir Robert, would call the "best of good company."

Another part of the house I well remember--the place, half gun-room,
half servant's hall--where we prepared for sport in the morning, and
brought the day's bag home at night. Prominent figures there were two
brothers Stevenson, Willie and Jamie, known for twenty miles round as
the "fox-hunters," known to us, after the southern sporting slang had
been brought among us by our neighbour Captain Barclay, as
"Pad-the-hoof" and "Flash-the-muzzle[7]" The fox-hunting was on foot,
but let no mounted hunter sneer. The haunts of the game were continuous
woods and bogs, hard to ride and from which no fox could be forced to
break. "Pad-the-hoof" looked no ignoble sportsman as he cheered his
great slow-hounds through the thicket, and his halloo rang from the
wood of Trustach to the craigs of Ashintillie. Both were armed, but
"Flash" took less charge of the hounds than seeing to death the fox, the
enemy of all, including the roe, which recent plantations had raised
into an enemy. I must say nothing on foot or wing came amiss to
Flash-the-muzzle's gun. Hares and rabbits, not then the pest of the
country, swelled our bag. We had a moderate number of black game, and
the fox-hunters were somewhat astonished to find that we of the gentry
set much store by woodcock, which bulked so little in the day's sport.
The fox-hunter brothers had the run of the servants' hall at Crathes,
and they were said to have consumed fabulous numbers of kitchen pokers,
which required to be heated red-hot to give the jugs of ale of their
evening draught the right temperature and flavour. That was a
free-living community. The gentlemen of the house were too much
gentlemen to stand upon their dignity, and all, from the baronet