There's a baking of scones; three pots of honey and one of rhubarb jam--she was aye famous for her rhubarb jam; a mutton ham, which you can't get for love or money in Glasgow; some home-made black puddings, and a wee skim-milk cheese.

I doubt I'll have to take a cab from the station." Dobson appeared satisfied, lit a short pipe, and relapsed into meditation.

The long uphill road, ever climbing to where far off showed the tiny whitewashed buildings which were the railway station, seemed interminable this morning.

The aged postman addressed strange objurgations to his aged horse and muttered reflections to himself, the innkeeper smoked, and Dickson stared back into the misty hollow where lay Dalquharter.

The south-west wind had brought up a screen of rain clouds and washed all the countryside in a soft wet grey.