CHAP. vi. A LONELY MOOR. 63 



precipice. You look down, and the waters are tumbling 

 and surging below; you are satisfied, and could sing 

 with joy too. After a time, I went my way home- 

 wards." 



Dick often relieved his solitary moments by writing 

 to his sister, then living at Haddington. She had com- 

 plained to him of her lowness of spirits, when he thus 

 wrote : " Cheer up, cheer up, my bonnie sister, and I 

 will tell you a story. One fine summer evening, not 

 long ago, your brother set out for the far-away hills. 

 He had been there before. The sun's heat was strong 

 when he set out (it was then August), but on he went, 

 past bothies, and houses, and milestones, until he was 

 'o'er the muir amang the heather.' Then past burns 

 and lochs, up a hill and over a hill, through a bog and 

 through a mire, until the sun set, and still he was toil- 

 ing on, with a long, long moor before him. 



" Have you ever been all alone on a dreary moor, 

 when the shadows of the coming darkness are settling 

 down, and the cold clammy fog goes creeping up the 

 hill before you ? It is hard work and very uncanny 

 walking to pick your steps, as there is no proper light to 

 guide you. For you must remember that moors are not 

 bowling-greens or finely-smoothed lawns. They may 

 be flowery paths, it is true, but very rough ones, full of 

 man-traps, jags, and holes, into which, if you once get, 

 you may with difficulty wade your way out again. 



"But on I went, hop, step, and, jump, now up, 

 now down, huffing and puffing, with my heart rapping 

 against my breast like the clapper of a mill. Then 



