Glenaire

Margot looked with a shudder at the tall poles set here and there along
the road. She had inquired as to their purpose, and had been informed
that they were so placed to act as landmarks; for when the drifts lay
deep, the ends of the poles served to point out the direction of the
road, whereas without their aid the traveller would of a certainty be
lost on the moors. Poor little linty-locked ones, imprisoned in the
tiny cot in those bitter days!

Margot's thoughts flew homeward, to the well-kept roads near her own
home; to the grumbling and indignation of the family, if perchance a
recent fall of snow had not been swept away as speedily as might be:
"The road was thick with mud. Impossible to cross without splashing
one's shoes. The snow was left to melt on the pavement--disgraceful!"
The Southerner railed at the discomfort of a greasy roadway; the
Northerner was thankful to escape death by the aid of a warning pole!

Suddenly and unexpectedly the road took a quick swerve to the right, and
lo, a narrow glen leading apparently into the very heart of the
mountains.

Glenaire village at last! A little group of cottages, two whitewashed
kirks, a schoolhouse, a post office, a crowded emporium where everything
was to be purchased, from a bale of wincey to a red herring or a coil of
rope; a baker's shop, sending forth a warm and appetising odour; a
smithy, through the open door of which came out a glare of heat,
astonishingly welcome after the long, chill drive; bare-footed children
playing at tares by the wayside; an old man in a plaid, smoking a pipe
and turning on the new arrivals a kindly, weather-beaten face,--these
were the impressions left on Margot's mind as the horses put on an extra
spurt, knowing full well that rest and food were near at hand.