'I just payed no attention, and here I am.'" Lewis laughed, but the rest of the audience suffered no change of feature.

The gloaming bad darkened, and the little small-paned window was a fretted sheet of dark and lucent blue.

Grateful odours of food and drink and tobacco hung in the air, though tar and homespun and the far-carried fragrance of peat fought stoutly for the mastery.
One man fell to telling of a fox-hunt, when he lay on the hill for the night and shot five of the destroyers of his flock before the morning, it was the sign--and the hour--for stories of many kinds--tales of weather and adventure, humorous lowland escapades and dismal mountain realities.

Or stranger still, there would come the odd, half-believed legends of the glen, told shamefully yet with the realism of men for whom each word had a power and meaning far above fiction.

Lewis listened entranced, marking his interest now by an exclamation, and again by a question.
The herd of Farawa told of the salmon, the king of the Aller salmon, who swam to the head of Aller and then crossed the spit of land to the head of Callowa to meet the king of the Callowa fish.