Huntingtower

d loosened all his placid idols, so that they shook and rattled in the niches where they had been erstwhile so secure. Mr. McCunn had a mind of a singu

he arrived at conclusions. He had a great respect for youth, but a line must be drawn somewhere. "The man's a child," he decided, "and not like to grow up. The way he's besotted on everything daftlike, if it's only new. And he's no rightly young either-speaks like an auld dominie, whiles. And he's rather impident," he conclu

breakfast smells came from the houses and delighted Mr. McCunn's nostrils; a squalling child was a pleasant reminder of an awakening world, the urban counterpart to the morning song of birds; even the sanitary cart seemed a picturesque vehicle. He bough

ppice of young firs, or on his thoughts which had returned to the idyllic. I take up the narrative at about three o'clock in the afternoon, when he is revea

lue shoulder of a considerable mountain. Before him the road was lost momentarily in the woods of a shooting-box, but reappeared at a great distance climbing a swell of upland which seemed to be the glacis of a jumble of bold summits. There was a pass there, the map told him, which led into G

iny station islanded in acres of bog. Thence the moor swept down to meadows and scattered copses, above which hung a thin haze of smoke which betokened a village. Beyond it were further woodlands, not firs but old shady trees, and as they nar

ing to do with fishing, doubtless in the two streams which flanked it. One he had already crossed, the Laver, a clear tumbling water springing from green hills; the other, the Garple, descended from the rougher mountains to the south

... He liked the way the moor dropped down to green meadows, and the mystery of the dark woods beyond. He wanted to explore the twin waters, and see how they entered that strange shimmering sea. The odd names, the odd cul-de-sac of a peninsula, power

n, took the omens. He tossed a penny-head

eams, with meadows inland and then a long lift of heather. He had the same feeling of expectancy, of something most interesting and curious on the eve of happening, that he had had long ago when he waited on the curtain rising at his first play. His spirits soared like the lark, and he took to singing. If only the inn at Dalquharter were snug and empty

ith long steps over the heather, his jacket open to the wind, his face a-glow and his capless head like a whin-bush for disorder, he cut a more wholesome a

fall in with you again. You must have t

," was the

ity-extension lecture. I may not agree with you, but every man's entitled

nursing anger, and was ver

mention it. I'm wondering what brought

I liked the look of th

ing terrible nice about a wee cape with a vil

itage. "You're obsessed by a particula

shook

wonder where the key lies. Cape-woods-two ri

ntioned in his circle except on death-beds. "I've be

-that kind of thing, you know. Or it might have happened to an ancestor.... But you don't look the kind of breed for hopeless

exa

is Cruives place on the map this morning, I saw it was what I was after. When I came in sight of it

unexpected revelation of romance. "Maybe

ase, but not mine. I'm pretty certain there's something hideous at the back of my complex-some grim o

ny village. The road had become a green "loaning" on the ample margin of which cattle grazed. The moorland still showed itself in spits of heather, and

us popellus keep away from a paradise like this!" Dickson, a democrat who felt nothing incongruous in t

som. A triangle of green filled the intervening space, and in it stood an ancient wooden pump. There was no schoolhouse or kirk; not even a post-office-only a red box in a cottage side. Be

e! No church or school or beastly recreation hall! Nothing but these divine little cottages an

halt he

which Gods m

flask upon the

nger hath alla

asshoppers an

but when the t

eedy, as if rarely visited by traffic, a pane in a window was broken, and the blinds hung tattered. The garden was a wilderness, and the do

d pale, his neck bulged, and he had a gross unshaven jowl. He was a type familiar to students of society; not the innkeeper, which is a thing consistent with good breeding and all the refinements; a type not unknown in the House

al smiles, and he gave the trav

e for the night?

eplied to Mr. Heritage. His expression passed

down yet. Even then I might have made shift to do with ye, but the fact is we've illness in the house, and I'm fair at my wits' end. It breaks my heart to

ng alien, something which might have been acquired in America or in going

else we can put

haven't room for an extra hen. But it's grand weather, and it's not above seven

o inquire after the illness in the house, but his companion hurried him off. On

in his pothouse. Now, Dogson, I'm hanged if I'm going to leave this place.

d hungry nostrils. The near meadows shone like pale gold against the dark lift of the moor. A light wind had begun to blow from the west and carried the

turned southward. Its thatched roof had been lately repaired, and starched curtains of a dazzling whiten

have been observed, for ere the noise had ceased the door opened, and an elderly woman stood before him. She had a sharply-cut face, the rudiments of a beard, big spectacles on her nose, and an old-fash

speech. "Me and my friend are paying our first visit here, and we're terrible taken up with the place. We w

I dinna tak' lodgers and I dinna want to be bothered wi' ye. I'm an auld wumman an

endous fancy to this bit. Can you no' manage to put with us for the one night? We're quiet auld-fashioned fol

owards the garden gate. The waiting Mr. Heritage, seeing her eyes moving in his direction,

d Dickson to the wo

nts, and apparently found them reassuring. "Come in," she said sho

dreams. She had been baking that morning, so there were white scones and barley scones, and oaten farles, and russet pancakes. There were three boiled eggs for each of them; there was a segment of an immense currant cake ("a present from my guid

er a lady's maid in London, and the other married to a schoolmaster in Kyle. The son had been in France fighting, and had come safely through. He ha

had told them. Mr. McCunn

bson-Dobson-aye, Dobson. What for wad they no' tak' ye in?

had illness

e frae Auchenlochan to cook, but she and her box gaed off in the post-cairt yestreen. I doot he tell

ired about t

rdens noo, but there's a man come to the Wast Lodge, a blackavised body wi' a face like bend-leather. Tam Robison used to bide at the South Lodge, but Tam got killed about Mesopotamy, and his wife took the bairns to her guidsire up at the Garpleheid. I seen the man t

ery straight in her chair, eating with the careful gentility of

se?" he asked. "Huntingto

e the last laird's faither but he maun change the name, for he was clean daft about what they ca' antickities. Ye speir whae bides in the

airried I was ane o' the table-maids. They were kind folk, the Kennedys, and, like a' the rale gentry, maist mindfu' o' them that served them. Sic' merry nichts I've seen in the auld Hoose, at Hallowe'en and Hog

nderness which comes from

tea!' Fine he likit my treacle scones, puir man. There wasna ane in the countryside sae bauld a rider at the hunt, or sic a skeely fisher

Tins?" Heritage asked. "I saw him i

ike Jehu as in the auld days. But wae's me! It wasna permitted. The next news we got, the puir laddie was deid o' influenzy and buried somewhere about France. The wanchancy bullet maun have weakened his chest, nae doot. So that's the end o' the guid stock o' Ke

lawyers?" D

ster Loudoun in Auchenlochan does the factorin'. He's let the public an' fi

son and Heritage rose from the table. Followed by an injunction to be back for supper "on the chap o' nine," they strolled out into the evening. Two hours of some sort

omance-old mansion, extinct family, village deserted of men and an innkeeper whom I suspect of b

n a pretty, modish cottage, with a thatched roof and dormer windows, but now it was badly in need of repair. A window-pane was broken and stuffed with a sack, the posts of the porch were givi

ket failed to open to Heritage's vigorous shaking. Insi

s trousers. The curious thing about him was his face, which was decorated with features so tiny as to give the impression of a monstrous child. Each in itself was well enough formed, but eyes, nose, mouth, chin were of a smallness curiously out of propor

age asked. "We are here for a night

either a bad cold, or a voice co

ere," he said huskily.

"It can do nobody any harm if y

vanced ano

ell you. It is private." The words spoken by the small

their back on him an

ce had flushed, for he was susceptible to rude

that class of lad. There can be no gates on the sea side, so we'l

the sunset. A little further down the channel broadened, the slopes fell back a little, and a tongue of glittering sea ran up to meet the hill waters. The Laver is a gentle stream after it leaves its cradle heights, a stream of clear pools and long bright shallows, winding by moor

ung himself

t village is bewitched, and that old woman's tea. Good white magic! And that foul innkeeper and that brigand at the gate. Black m

served and

ere objecting to yon laddies camping on the moor. And you very near bit the neb off me when I said I lik

onsistent. I've a poet's licence to play the fool, and if you don't understand me, I don't in the

strange mood. He began to whistl

at that is?" he

ld not detect an

ellow who wrote it. Jolly thing, isn't it? I always remind myself of it when I'm in this mood, for it

he native fashion. "

... In the place where I stayed there was a girl. She was a Russian, a princess of a great family, but a refugee and of course as poor as sin.... I remember how badly dressed she was among all the well-to-do Romans. But, my God, what a beauty! There was never anything in the world like her.... She was little more than a child, and she

by your confidence,"

hed him a clout on the back. "Don't talk of confidence as if you were a reporter," he sa

path which had once been gravelled and trimmed. Beyond through a thicket of laurels and rhododendrons they came on a long unkempt aisle of grass, which seemed to be one of those side avenues often found in connection with old Scots dwellings. Keeping along this they reached a grove o

new, raw and new, not twenty years built. Some madness had prompted its creator to set up a replica of a Tudor house in a countryside where the thing was unheard of. All the tricks were there-oriel windows, lozenged panes, high twisted chimney stacks; the very stone was red, as if to imitate

ething against nature, and this new thing was decadent. But there was a mysterious life in it, for though not a chimney smoked, it seemed to enshrine a personality and to wear a sinister aura. He felt a lively distaste, which was almost fear.

he path which threaded the lawn just beyond the sunk-fence. It was the keeper of the West Lodge a

their irregular fall it was plain that he was lame. The two men met near the door, and spoke together. Then they separated, and move

this," said Dickso

pped their noises and the sounds of night have not begun. But suddenly in the silence fell notes of m

The house no longer looked sepulchral. He saw that the two men had hurried back from their patrol, had met

use. Dickson caught him by the arm and dragged him into the bushes, and he followed unresistingly, like a man in a dream.

s very white, and that sweat stood on his temples. Heritage lay down

is the voice of the girl I saw in