244 Notes on Spoid and Travel i 



touches the heather roof in the rear, making one 

 speculate curiously as to how the summer thunder- 

 storms treat his floor, and whether he goes out and 

 sits on the roof for the sake of comparative dryness 

 when the whole sheet of heather behind is running 

 in a broad stream. There is a padlock on the door, 

 but more for show than use, for the key is rusted 

 tightly into it, and all power of locking has long 

 since departed from the springs ; still the thing 

 looks well, and might, probably, prevent a particularly 

 conscientious burglar from breaking in. 



Bending low through the doorway, we see the 

 secrets of Donald's domestic economy laid bare. A 

 rude bed on one side, across which lay a pair of 

 well-patched and well-soaked breeks ; a table, con- 

 sisting of a broad flat stone, miraculously balanced 

 on divers bits of bogwood ; a shelf, from which 

 depends a worsted stocking with a needle sticking 

 across a vast rent, Donald's last effort at mending 

 himsel' given up in despair, with a stern determina- 

 tion to propose to the pretty lassie at Lairg next 

 Sabbath ; a tin plate, a fork stuck into the shelf 

 to facilitate finding, a basin with a little dried 

 porridge sticking about it, and a well-blacked crock, 

 are all we discover in the semi-darkness until we 

 stumble over something which proves to be a stump 

 of bogwood with the roots whittled ofl" to sufficient 

 evenness to permit of your sitting upon it without 

 being tilted into the fire, that is, if you understand 

 it and are very careful. Window there is none ; 



