110 THE JOURNEYMAN. 



western gable of the inri, the howl of the wind, the 

 pattering of the rain, and, heard at intervals, the distant 

 bark of a sheep dog. The landlord of Achnicion is a 

 kind active old man of about seventy, his wife an indo- 

 lent slattern of nineteen. The match was a love one on 

 at least one side, will you believe it ? on the side of the 

 lady, who would have broken her heart, it is said, had 

 not the old man married her. 



'We were awakened next morning by the carter 

 storming in an adjoining room at both us and the land- 

 lord, who strove to defend us ; and so terrible was the 

 noise he made that every person in the inn gathered 

 round the door to see what was the matter. He actually 

 howled out the story of his wrongs and of his sufferings. 

 He had been galled during his journey with a pair of bad 

 shoes and a large bundle, and knocked up about seven 

 miles short of the stage, where he had to beg lodgings 

 for the night, having drunk all his money before leaving 

 Dingwall. Furious as he was, however, we succeeded in 

 pacifying him, partly by dint of threats, partly through 

 the mediation of a few gills of whisky ; and then set out 

 with him on our journey. The morning somewhat re- 

 sembled the preceding night. Large volumes of mist 

 seemed sleeping on the distant hills, and the long low 

 moors that lie around Achnicion appeared more dismally 

 bleak beneath the shadow of the thick heavy clouds 

 which brooded over them. 



The weather cleared up as we proceeded. We had 

 quitted the highway immediately on leaving the inn, and 

 our path, which seemed to have been formed rather by 

 the feet of animals than the hands of men, went winding 

 for about seven miles through a brown moory valley, 

 whose tedious length was enlivened by a blue oblong 



