The robins, I see, have made the coalhouse their home.

Waster Lunny's dog never barks without rousing my sluggish cat to a joyful response.

It is Dutch courage with the birds and beasts of the glen, hard driven for food; but I look attentively for them in these long forenoons, and they have begun to regard me as one of themselves.

My breath freezes, despite my pipe, as I peer from the door; and with a fortnight-old newspaper I retire to the ingle-nook.

The friendliest thing I have seen to-day is the well-smoked ham suspended from my kitchen rafters.