Glenaire

Margot and Ronald slept through their long journey with the fortitude of
youth, enjoyed a delicious breakfast at Perth, took train again for a
couple of hours, and finally set out on the last and most enjoyable
stage of their journey--the six-mile drive to the head of Glenaire.

The first portion of the road gave little promise of beauty, but with
every mile that was traversed the scenery began to assume a wilder and a
sterner aspect. The mountains were high and bare, with few trees upon
their banks, except here and there a patch of dark green firs. When the
sun retired behind a cloud they looked somewhat grim and forbidding, but
as it emerged from the shelter they became in a moment a soft, blooming
purple; a wonder of beauty against the high, blue sky. In the valley
were rolling plains of meadowland, of richest, most verdant green, with
here and there a blaze of golden gorse or of thickly-growing rushes, to
mark the presence of hidden water.

At long intervals was seen a little white cottage, set back from the
road, where some lonely shepherd tended his sheep; and, at the sound of
wheels, little linty-headed children would rush out to the gate, and
stand gazing at the strangers with big round eyes, which looked light
against the tan of their faces.

What a life for young and old to live all the year round, looking out on
the grim bare hills; alone with God and Nature, and the dumb, patient
animals! Day after day alone, in a little niche between grey rocks;
alone in the summer-time, when the winds blew soft, and the buttercups
made splashes of gold across the green; alone in the winter, when the
mountains seemed to shut out the light, and the snow lay deep on the
ground.