You would have thought from our leave-taking that we had parted in disgust.
Hislop was a cheery soul, who chattered all the way over the pass and down the sunny vale of Annan.

I talked of Galloway markets and sheep prices, and he made up his mind I was a 'pack-shepherd' from those parts--whatever that may be.

My plaid and my old hat, as I have said, gave me a fine theatrical Scots look.

But driving cattle is a mortally slow job, and we took the better part of the day to cover a dozen miles.
If I had not had such an anxious heart I would have enjoyed that time.
It was shining blue weather, with a constantly changing prospect of brown hills and far green meadows, and a continual sound of larks and curlews and falling streams.

But I had no mind for the summer, and little for Hislop's conversation, for as the fateful fifteenth of June drew near I was overweighed with the hopeless difficulties of my enterprise.
I got some dinner in a humble Moffat public-house, and walked the two miles to the junction on the main line.