The kail grows brittle from the snow in my dank and cheerless garden. A crust ofbread gathers timid pheasants round me. The robins, I see, have made thecoalhouse their home. Waster Lunny's dog never barks without rousing my sluggishcat to a joyful response. It is Dutch courage with the birds and beasts of the glen, hard driven for food; but I look attentively for them in these long forenoons, andthey have begun to regard me as one of themselves. My...