CHAPTER EIGHT.
GLENAIRE.
Margot and Ronald slept through their long journey with the fortitude ofyouth, enjoyed a delicious breakfast at Perth, took train again for acouple of hours, and finally set out on the last and most enjoyablestage of their journey--the six-mile drive to the head of Glenaire.
The first portion of the road gave little promise of beauty, but withevery mile that was traversed the scenery began to assume a wilder and asterner aspect. The mountains were high and bare, with few trees upontheir banks, except here and there a patch of dark green firs. When thesun retired behind a cloud they looked somewhat grim and forbidding, butas it emerged from the shelter they became in a moment a soft, bloomingpurple; a wonder of beauty against the high, blue sky. In the valleywere rolling plains of meadowland, of richest, most verdant green, withhere and there a blaze of golden gorse or of thickly-growing rushes, tomark the presence of hidden water.
At long intervals was seen a little white cottage, set back from theroad, where some lonely shepherd tended his sheep; and, at the sound ofwheels, little linty-headed children would rush out to the gate, andstand gazing at the strangers with big round eyes, which looked lightagainst the tan of their faces.
What a life for young and old to live all the year round, looking out onthe grim bare hills; alone with God and Nature, and the dumb, patientanimals! Day after day alone, in a little niche between grey rocks;alone in the summer-time, when the winds blew soft, and the buttercupsmade splashes of gold across the green; alone in the winter, when themountains seemed to shut out the light, and the snow lay deep on theground.
Margot looked with a shudder at the tall poles set here and there alongthe road. She had inquired as to their purpose, and had been informedthat they were so placed to act as landmarks; for when the drifts laydeep, the ends of the poles served to point out the direction of theroad, whereas without their aid the traveller would of a certainty belost on the moors. Poor little linty-locked ones, imprisoned in thetiny cot in those bitter days!
Margot's thoughts flew homeward, to the well-kept roads near her ownhome; to the grumbling and indignation of the family, if perchance arecent fall of snow had not been swept away as speedily as might be:"The road was thick with mud. Impossible to cross without splashingone's shoes. The snow was left to melt on the pavement--disgraceful!"The Southerner railed at the discomfort of a greasy roadway; theNortherner was thankful to escape death by the aid of a warning pole!
Suddenly and unexpectedly the road took a quick swerve to the right, andlo, a narrow glen leading apparently into the very heart of themountains.
Glenaire village at last! A little group of cottages, two whitewashedkirks, a schoolhouse, a post office, a crowded emporium where everythingwas to be purchased, from a bale of wincey to a red herring or a coil ofrope; a baker's shop, sending forth a warm and appetising odour; asmithy, through the open door of which came out a glare of heat,astonishingly welcome after the long, chill drive; bare-footed childrenplaying at tares by the wayside; an old man in a plaid, smoking a pipeand turning on the new arrivals a kindly, weather-beaten face,--thesewere the impressions left on Margot's mind as the horses put on an extraspurt, knowing full well that rest and food were near at hand.
After the little group of houses there came another stretch of road forperhaps three-quarters of a mile; a road which wound along betweenmoorland on the right, and on the left a straggling tarn, thicklysurrounded by rushes. The cone-shaped mountain at the head of the glentowered ever nearer and nearer, until it seemed as if it must beimpossible to drive a hundred yards farther. Seen in the broad light ofa summer afternoon it was wonderfully beautiful; but it was a wild andlonesome spot, and, given cloud or rain, its very grandeur and isolationwould increase the sense of gloom.
Margot had time to shiver at an imaginary picture before an exclamationfrom Ron attracted her attention. There it stood! the little white inn,nestled beneath the shelter of a rock, so near to the head of the glenthat the road came to an abrupt ending but a few yards farther on. Adoor in the middle; two small-paned windows on either side; a row offive windows overhead; to the right a garden stocked with vegetables anda tangle of bright-coloured flowers; to the left the stable-yard. Thiswas the Nag's Head, and in the doorway stood the redoubtable Mrs McNabherself, staring with steely eyes at the daring feminine intruder.
The one overpowering impression made by Mrs McNab was cleanliness! Shewas so obtrusively, aggressively, immaculately clean, that the like ofher had never before dazzled the eyes of the benighted Southernvisitors. Her lilac print gown was glossy from the press of the iron;the hands folded across the snowy apron were puffed and lined fromrecent parboiling; her face shone like a mirror from a generous use ofgood yellow soap. White stockings showed above her black felt slippers;her hair--red streaked with grey--was plastered down on each side of herhead, and, for greater security, tied with a broad black ribbon. Astiff white collar was fastened by a slab of pebble rimmed in silver,which proudly imagined itself to be an ornamental brooch. There was nota single feminine curve in her body; stiff and square she stood, like asentinel on guard, her lips pressed into a thin line; in her eyes asmouldering flame.
Margot took her in, with one swift comprehensive glance, as the driverreined up his tired horses before the door. A temper; a quick temper, atemper easily provoked, but a kindly woman nevertheless. No countrybumpkin, but a shrewd, capable business woman, with two light blue eyesfixed stolidly on the main chance; a woman, moreover, blessed with asense of humour; else why those deep lines stretching from nose to chin;that radiating nest of wrinkles round the eyes?
Margot's courage revived at the sight. She sprang down lightly from herperch and advanced towards the house, smiling in her most fascinatingmanner.
"How do you do, Mrs McNab? We have arrived, you see. So glad to behere at last!"
The mistress of the inn stared into her face, stolidly unmoved.
"It was two brithers I was expecting. I'm no caring for leddies!"
"You like gentlemen better? Oh, so do I--_Much_!" cried Margot with agush. "But they need us to look after them, don't they? My brother isnot at all strong. The drive has been delightful, but rather cold, allthe same. I am afraid he may be chilled." She stretched out a littleungloved hand, and laid it lightly on the hard red fist. "Feel! We_should_ love some tea!"
Mrs McNab looked down at the delicate little hand, up into the pleadingeyes, and over her set square face there passed a contortion,--there isreally no other word to describe it,--a contortion of unwillingamusement. The chin dropped, the lips twitched, the red lines which didduty for eyebrows wrinkled towards the nose. Similarly affected, anIrishwoman would have invoked all the saints in her calendar, and rainedwelcomes and blessings in a breath; an Englishwoman would have smiled agracious welcome; but Mrs McNab drew away from the beguiling touch,turned a broad back on her guests, and with a curt "Come yer ways!" ledthe way into the house.
Behind her back Margot beamed and grimaced triumphantly to herconfederate. Victory was in the air! Mrs McNab could not refuse togrant a night's shelter to a tired and chilly traveller, and by to-morrow--Margot smiled to herself, recalling the contortion of the dourScotch face,--by to-morrow she was complacently satisfied that MrsMcNab would no longer wish to be rid of her unexpected guest!
Big Game: A Story for Girls Page 8
