In winter nothing more dreary, in summer nothing more divine, than those glens shut in by hills, and those bluff, bold swells of heath.
I reached the Grange before sunset, and knocked for admittance; but the family had retreated into the back premises, I judged, by one thin, blue wreath, curling from the kitchen chimney, and they did not hear.

I rode into the court.

Under the porch, a girl of nine or ten sat knitting, and an old woman reclined on the housesteps, smoking a meditative pipe.
'Is Mrs.Dean within ?' I demanded of the dame.
'Mistress Dean?
Nay!' she answered, 'she doesn't bide here: shoo's up at th' Heights.' 'Are you the housekeeper, then ?' I continued.
'Eea, aw keep th' hause,' she replied.
'Well, I'm Mr.Lockwood, the master.

Are there any rooms to lodge me in, I wonder?
I wish to stay all night.' 'T' maister!' she cried in astonishment.

'Whet, whoiver knew yah wur coming?
Yah sud ha' send word.