200 A HARD DAY ON THE HILL 



lodge of Corrour, 1500 feet above sea-level, wherein I 

 was a guest, thence along the steep shore of Loch 

 Ossian, down Strathgulvan, and so through Glen Spean 

 to Lochaber, Fort William, and — commonplace. Of old 

 this track was much in use by drovers, pedestrians, 

 and pack-horse traffic; but since the West Highland 

 Railway was opened it has become deserted, and so 

 seldom does anybody pass that way that one involun- 

 tarily takes curious note of any traveller he may meet. 

 On the day previous to that about which I am prosing, 

 I happened to meet a pedestrian going west of so 

 singular appearance as to cause me to wonder how in 

 the world he had arrived in that desolate region, 1500 

 feet above sea-level. He was very tall and lean, had a 

 large and extremely red nose, and, being clad entirely 

 in black, irresistibly suggested the figure of Dominie 

 Sampson. 



Well, as my pony picked his way slowly along the 

 rugged side of Loch Ossian, he suddenly shied so 

 violently as well-nigh to pop me into the said loch. 

 The object which shook his nerves was the individual 

 I had seen the day before, who now lay fast asleep in 

 a little hollow in the bank. Gathering up the reins, I 

 followed the precedent set by priest and Levite in the 

 parable, passing by on the other side, noting at the 

 same time that under the sleeper's elbow lay a white 

 book or bundle of papers. The sun had grown hot 

 before I reached the trysting-place, and there remained 

 still two or three miles to walk before reaching the foot 

 of Beinn-a-chlachair, which was my beat for the day. 

 This conical mountain — the Stonemason's Hill — rises 



