of sheep came from the valley. By and by they reached the shelving coast of fine hill gravel, and as they turned to swim easily back a sleepy figure staggered down the pier and stumbled rather than plunged into the water.
'Hullo!' gasped George, 'there's old John. He'll drown, for I bet you anything he isn't awake. Look!'
But in a second a dark head appeared which shook itself vigorously, and a figure made for the other two with great strokes. He was by so much the best swimmer of the three that he had soon reached them, and though in all honesty he first swam to the farther shore, yet he touched the pier very little behind them. Then came a rush for the house, and in half an hour three fresh-coloured young men came downstairs, whistling for breakfast.
The breakfast-room was a place to refresh a townsman's senses. Long and cool and dark, it was simply Lewis's room, and he preferred to entertain his friends there instead of wandering among unused dining-rooms. It had windows at each end with old-fashioned folding sashes; and the view on one side was to a great hill shoulder, fir-clad and deep in heather, and on the other to the glen below and the shining links of the Avelin.
It was panelled in dark oak, and the furniture was a strange medley.
The deep arm-chairs by the fire and the many pipes savoured of the smoking-room; the guns, rods, polo sticks, whips, which were stacked or hung everywhere, and the heads of deer on the walls, gave it an atmosphere of sport. The pictures were few but good-two water-colours, a small Raeburn above the fireplace, and half a dozen fine etchings. In a corner were many old school and college groups-the Eton Ramblers, the O.U.A.C., some dining clubs, and one of Lewis on horseback in racing costume, looking deeply miserable. Low bookcases of black oak ran round the walls, and the shelves were crammed with books piled on one another, many in white vellum bindings, which showed pleasantly against the dark wood. Flowers were everywhere-common garden flowers of old- fashioned kinds, for the owner hated exotics, and in a shallow silver bowl in the midst of the snowy table-cloth was a great mass of purple heather-bells.
Three very hungry young men sat down to their morning meal with a hearty goodwill. The host began to rummage among his correspondence, and finally extracted an unstamped note, which he opened. His face brightened as he read, and he laid it down with a broad smile and helped himself to fish.
'Are you people very particular what you do to-day?' he asked.
Arthur said, No. George explained that he was in the hands of his beneficent friend.
'Because my Aunt Egeria down at Glenavelin has got up some sort of a picnic on the moors, and she wants us to meet her at the sheepfolds about twelve.'
'Oh,' said George meditatively. 'Excellent! I shall be charmed.' But he looked significantly at Arthur, who returned the glance.
'Who are at Glenavelin?' asked that simple young man with an air of innocence.
'There's a man called Stocks, whom you probably know.'
Arthur nodded.
'And there's Bertha Afflint and her sister.'
It was George's turn to nod approvingly. The sharp-witted Miss Afflint was a great ally of his.
'And there's a Miss Wishart-Alice Wishart,' said Lewis, without a word of comment. 'And with my Aunt Egeria that will be all.'
The pair got the cue, and resolved to subject the Miss Wishart whose name came last on their host's tongue to a friendly criticism.
Meanwhile they held their peace on the matter like wise men.
'What a strange name Egeria is!' said Arthur. 'Very,' said Lewis; 'but you know the story. My respectable aunt's father had a large family of girls, and being of a classical turn of mind he called them after the Muses. The Muses held out for nine, but for the tenth and youngest he found himself in a difficulty. So he tried another tack and called the child after the nymph Egeria. It sounds outlandish, but I prefer it to Terpsichore.'
Thereafter they lit pipes, and, with the gravity which is due to a great subject, inspected their friend's rods and guns.
'I see no memorials of your travels, Lewie,' said Arthur. 'You must have brought back no end of things, and most people like to stick them round as a remembrance.'
'I have got a roomful if you want to see them,' said The traveller; 'but I don't see the point of spoiling a moorland place with foreign odds and ends. I like homely and native things about me when I am in Scotland.'
'You're a sentimentalist, old man,' said his friend; and George, who heard only the last word, assumed that Arthur had then and there divulged his suspicions, and favoured that gentleman with a wild frown of disapproval.
As Lewis sat on the edge of the Etterick burn and looked over the shining spaces of morning, forgetful of his friends, forgetful of his past, his mind was full of a new turmoil of feeling. Alice Wishart had begun to claim a surprising portion of his thoughts. He told himself a thousand times that he was not in love-that he should never be in love, being destined for other things; that he liked the girl as he liked any fresh young creature in the morning of life, with youth's beauty and the grace of innocence. But insensibly his everyday reflections began to be coloured by her presence. 'What would she think of this?' 'How that would please her!' were sentences spoken often by the tongue of his fancy. He found charm in her presence after his bachelor solitude; her demure gravity pleased him; but that he should be led bond-slave by love-that was a matter he valiantly denied.
II
The sheepfolds of Etterick lie in a little fold of glen some two miles from the dwelling, where the heathy tableland, known all over the glen as 'The Muirs,' relieves the monotony of precipitous hills. On this day it was alert with life. The little paddock was crammed with sheep, and more stood huddling in the pens. Within was the liveliest scene, for there a dozen herds sat on clipping-stools each with a struggling ewe between his knees, and the ground beneath him strewn with creamy folds of fleece. From a thing like a gallows in a corner huge bags were suspended which were slowly filling. A cauldron of pitch bubbled over a fire, and the smoke rose blue in the hot hill air. Every minute a bashful animal was led to be branded with a great E on the left shoulder and then with awkward stumbling let loose to join her naked fellow-sufferers. Dogs slept in the sun and wagged their tails in the rear of the paddock. Small children sat on gates and lent willing feet to drive the flocks. In a corner below a little shed was the clippers' meal of ale and pies, with two glasses of whisky each, laid by under a white cloth. Meantime from all sides rose the continual crying of sheep, the intermittent bark of dogs, and the loud broad converse of the men.
Lewis and his friends jumped a fence, and were greeted heartily in the enclosure. He seemed to know each herd by name or rather nickname, for he had a word for all, and they with all freedom grinned _badinage_ back.
'Where's my stool, Yed?' he cried. 'Am I not to have a hand in clipping my own sheep?'
An obedient shepherd rose and fetched one of the triangular seats, while Lewis with great ease caught the ewe, pulled her on her back, and proceeded to call for shears. An old pair was found for him, and with much dexterity he performed the clipping, taking little longer to the business than the expert herd, and giving the shears a professional wipe on the sacking with which he had prudently defended his clothes.
From somewhere in the back two boys came forward-the Tam and Jock of a former day-eager to claim acquaintance. Jock was clearly busy, for his jacket was off and a very ragged shirt was rolled about two stout brown arms. The 'human collie' seemed to be a gentleman of some leisure, for he was arrayed in what was for him the pink of fashion in dress. The two immediately lay down on the ground beside Lewis exactly in the manner of faithful dogs.
The men talked cheerfully, mainly on sheep and prices. Now talk would touch on neighbours, and there would be the repetition of some tale or saying. 'There was a man in the glen called Rorison. D'ye mind Jock Rorison, Sandy?' And Sandy would reply, 'Fine I mind Jock,' and then both would proceed to confidences.
'Hullo, Tam,' said Lewis at last, realizing his henchman's grandeur. 'Why this magnificence of dress?
'I'm gaun to the Sabbath-school treat this afternoon,' said that worthy.
'And you, Jock-are you going too?'
'No me! I'm ower auld, and besides, I've cast out wi' the minister.'
'How was that?'
'Oh, I had been fechtin',' said Jock airily. 'It was Andra Laidlaw. He called me ill names, so I yokit on him and bate him too, but I got my face gey sair bashed. The minister met me next day when I was a' blue and yellow, and, says he, 'John Laverlaw, what have ye been daein'?
