64 A HILL-TOP AT NIGHT. 



everything around looked so queer and so quiet, with 

 the mist growing so thick that it was difficult to distin- 

 guish one hill from another. Had I not been intimately 

 acquainted with every knowe and hillock of the country 

 through which I was travelling, I never could have got 

 through it. But, cheer up ! never lose heart ! There's 

 the little loch at last, and there's the hill ! Ay, but 

 your work's not done yet. You must climb the hill, for 

 what you seek is only upon its very top. 



"It's rough work running through a moor, but it 

 takes your wind clean out of you to climb the hill that 

 lies beyond it. Were you ever up a hill-top at night, 

 your lee lane, with the mist swooping about you and 

 drooking your whiskers and eyebrows ? I daresay no. 

 But up this hill I had to clamber on my hands and 

 knees to find the plants that I had come in search of. 

 Yes ! I found them, though I was not quite sure until 

 the sun had rise*n to enlighten me. Then I found that 

 I had made out my point 



"The light enabled me to make my way downhill. 

 Feeling thirsty, as well I might, I clambered over rocks, 

 and braes, and heather, to a very pretty loch at the hill- 

 foot. Picking my steps to a place full of large stones, I 

 came to a pair of them where I stooped down into the 

 clear water and drank my filL It is a grand thing to 

 dip your nose down into the water like a bird, with the 

 shingle and gravel lying below you, and then take your 

 early morning drink. 



" But 1 have no time to say out my say. Only this, 

 sister, only this : never lose heart in the thickest mists 



