We rumbled slowly into a land of little wooded glens and then to a great wide moorland place, gleaming with lochs, with high blue hills showing northwards.
About five o'clock the carriage had emptied, and I was left alone as I had hoped.

I got out at the next station, a little place whose name I scarcely noted, set right in the heart of a bog.

It reminded me of one of those forgotten little stations in the Karroo.

An old station-master was digging in his garden, and with his spade over his shoulder sauntered to the train, took charge of a parcel, and went back to his potatoes.

A child of ten received my ticket, and I emerged on a white road that straggled over the brown moor.
It was a gorgeous spring evening, with every hill showing as clear as a cut amethyst.