176 WILD FLOWERS OF SCOTLAND 



over the ground, just to show their independence, 

 turn aside from the annoyances, and take the other 

 way. 



In this case, the old path happened to be of quite 

 exceptional interest to a small but mildly stubborn 

 order of visitors. Their grievance was not in the 

 closing of the nearest way to Braemar many of 

 them would have trudged the extra mile or two 

 without a word. The attraction lay along the 

 route, and not in the goal. Lost through all the 

 long hours of a summer day in Glen Doile, they 

 never so much as emerged from the other end. 

 Stained and footsore, but not weary, and with a 

 light shining in their faces, they might have been 

 seen towards night coming out just about where 

 they had gone in. To them the finger-post meant 

 the shutting up of their hilly paradise. 



I have no intention of going to Braemar to-day. 

 My further route is in a pleasing state of un- 

 certainty, as it always is when I am abroad. The 

 forbidden ground is just what I have come to see. 



There, the gathering majesty of the way passes 

 into still loftier reaches of grandeur and sublimity. 

 Though it gets the name of Doile, it is only the 

 fitting climax where Clova abuts, and abruptly 

 closes, on the tremendous cross - ridge of the 



