Their path had been a mounting one; they were now on higher earth, near the plateau or watershed that marked the top of the glen.

The bright sky arched overhead, the sun shone strongly, the air moved in currents without violence.
"You see where that smoke comes up between trees?
That's Mother Binning's cot." "Who's she ?" "She's a wise auld wife.

She's a scryer.

That's her ash-tree." Their path brought them by the hut and its bit of garden.

Jock Binning, that was Mother Binning's crippled son, sat fishing in the stream.