It was a hawthorn hedge, very old, and near the ground very thin, so that they easily found a place to creep through.

But they were no better on the other side, for the larches hid the meadow.

They went down through them, therefore, to the bank of the little river--the largest tributary of the Daur from the roots of Glashgar.
"There he is!" cried Nicie.
"I see him," responded Ginny, "-- with his cows all about the meadow." Donal sat a little way from the river, reading.
"He's aye at 's buik!" said Nicie.
"I wonder what book it is," said Ginny.
"That wad be ill to say," answered Nicie.

"Donal reads a hantle o' buiks--mair, his mither says, nor she doobts he can weel get the guid o'." "Do you think it's Latin, Nicie ?" "Ow! I daursay.

But no; it canna be Laitin--for, leuk! he's lauchin', an' he cudna dee that gien 'twar Laitin.