_A Chatty P._ (_to the driver; not because he cares, but simply for the sake of conversation_). What fish do you catch in that river there? _The Driver_ (_with an effort_). There'll be troots, an, maybe, a pairrch or two. _The Chatty P._ Perch? Ah, that's rather like a goldfish in shape, eh? _Driver_ (_cautiously_). Aye, it would be that. _Chatty P._ Only considerably bigger, of course. _Driver_ (_evasively_). Pairrch is no a verra beg fesh. _Chatty P._ But bigger than goldfish. _Driver_ (_more confidently_). Ou aye, they'll be begger than goldfesh. _Chatty P._ (_persistently_). You've seen goldfish--know what they're _like_, eh? _Driver_ (_placidly_). I canna say I do. [_They pass a shooting party with beaters._ _Chatty P._ (_as before_). What are they going to shoot? _Driver._ They'll jist be going up to the hells for a bet grouse drivin'. _A Lady P._ I wonder why they carry those poles with the red and yellow flags. I suppose they're to warn tourists to keep out of range when they begin firing at the butts. I know they _have_ butts up on the moor, because I've seen them. Just look at those birds running after that man throwing grain for them. Would those be _grouse?_ _Driver._ Ye'll no find grouse so tame as that, Mem; they'll jist be phaysants. _The Lady P._ Poor dear things! why, they're as tame as chickens. It _does_ seem so cruel to kill them! _Her Comp._ Well, but they kill chickens, occasionally. _The Lady P._ Not with a horrid gun; and, besides, that's such a totally different thing. _The Chatty P._ What do you call that mountain, driver, eh? _Driver._ Yon hell? I'm no minding its name. _The Surly P._ You don't seem very ready in pointing out the objects of interests on the route, I must say. _Driver_ (_modestly_). There'll be them on the corch that know as much aboot it as myself. (_After a pause--to vindicate his character as a cicerone._) Did ye nottice a bit building at the end of the loch over yonder? _The Surly P._ No, I didn't. _Driver._ Ye might ha' seen it had ye looked. [_He relapses into a contented silence._ _Chatty P._ Anything remarkable about the building? _Driver._ It was no the building that's remairkable. (_After a severe struggle with his own reticence._) It was jist the spoat. 'Twas there _Roderick Dhu_ fought _Fitz-James_ after convoying him that far on his way. [_The_ Surly Passenger _snorts as though he didn't consider this information_. _The Lady P._ (_who doesn't seem to be up in her "Lady of the Lake"_). _Fitz-James who?_ _Her Comp._ I fancy he's the man who owns this line of coaches. There's his name on the side of this one. _The Lady P._ And I saw _Roderick Dhu's_ on another coach. I _thought_ it sounded familiar, somehow. He must be the _rival_ proprietor, I suppose. I wonder if they've made it up yet.