Almost it might have been the Pentlands or the high mosses between Douglas Water and Clyde.

To us coming fresh from the torrid plains it was bitter weather, and I feared for Elspeth, who was thinly clad for the hill-tops.

Ringan seemed to feel the cold the worst of us, for he had spent his days in the hot seas of the south.

He put his horse-blanket over his shoulders, and cut a comical figure with his red face peeping from its folds.
"Lord," he would cry, "I wish I was in the Dry Tortugas or snug in the beach-house at the Isle o' Pines.

This minds me painfully of my young days, when I ran in a ragged kilt in the cold heather of Cruachan.