Margot and Ronald slept through their long journey with the fortitude of
youth, enjoyed a delicious breakfast at Perth, took train again for a
couple of hours, and finally set out on the last and most enjoyable
stage of their journey--the six-mile drive to the head of Glenaire.
The first portion of the road gave little promise of beauty, but with
every mile that was traversed the scenery began to assume a wilder and a
sterner aspect. The mountains were high and bare, with few trees upon
their banks, except here and there a patch of dark green firs. When the
sun retired behind a cloud they looked somewhat grim and forbidding, but
as it emerged from the shelter they became in a moment a soft, blooming
purple; a wonder of beauty against the high, blue sky. In the valley
were rolling plains of meadowland, of richest, most verdant green, with
here and there a blaze of golden gorse or of thickly-growing rushes, to
mark the presence of hidden water.
At long intervals was seen a little white cottage, set back from the
road, where some lonely shepherd tended his sheep; and, at the sound of
wheels, little linty-headed children would rush out to the gate, and
stand gazing at the strangers with big round eyes, which looked light
against the tan of their faces.
What a life for young and old to live all the year round, looking out on
the grim bare hills; alone with God and Nature, and the dumb, patient
animals! Day after day alone, in a little niche between grey rocks;
alone in the summer-time, when the winds blew soft, and the buttercups
made splashes of gold across the green; alone in the winter, when the
mountains seemed to shut out the light, and the snow lay deep on the
ground.
Margot looked with a shudder at the tall poles set here and there along
the road. She had inquired as to their purpose, and had been informed
that they were so placed to act as landmarks; for when the drifts lay
deep, the ends of the poles served to point out the direction of the
road, whereas without their aid the traveller would of a certainty be
lost on the moors. Poor little linty-locked ones, imprisoned in the
tiny cot in those bitter days!
Margot's thoughts flew homeward, to the well-kept roads near her own
home; to the grumbling and indignation of the family, if perchance a
recent fall of snow had not been swept away as speedily as might be:
"The road was thick with mud. Impossible to cross without splashing
one's shoes. The snow was left to melt on the pavement--disgraceful!"
The Southerner railed at the discomfort of a greasy roadway; the
Northerner was thankful to escape death by the aid of a warning pole!