es. Observe,' he continued, 'that my hut, which consists of one
large room, stands in the centre of a gravel square.'

'It is strange-looking gravel!' said Dugald.

'It is nearly altogether composed of salt. My house is built of stone, but
it is plastered with a kind of cement I can dig here in the hills. There
is not a crevice nor hollow in all the wall, and it is four feet thick.
The floor is also cemented, and so is the roof.'

'And this,' I remarked, 'is no doubt for coolness in summer.'

'Yes, and warmth in winter, if it comes to that, and also for cleanliness.
Yonder is a ladder that leads to the roof. Up there I lounge and think,
drink my _mate_ and read. Oh yes, I have plenty of books, which I keep in
a safe with bitter-herb powder--to save them, you know, from literary ants
and other insects who possess an ambition to solve the infinite. Observe
again, that I have neither porch nor verandah to my house, and that the
windows are small. I object to a porch and to climbing things on the same
principle that I do to creeping, crawling creatures. The world is wide
enough for us all. But they must keep to their side of the house at night,
and I to mine. And mine is the inside. This is also the reason why most of
the gravel is composed of salt. As a rule, creepies don't like it.'

'Oh, I'm glad you told us that,' said Archie; 'I shall make my mule carry
a bushel of it. I'm glad you don't like creepies, sir.'

'But, boy, I _do_. Only I object to them indoors. Walk in. Observe again,
as a showman would say, how very few my articles of furniture are. Notice,
however, that they are all scrupulously clean. Nevertheless, I have every
convenience. That thong-bottomed sofa is my bed. My skins and rugs are
kept in a bag all day, and hermetically sealed against the prying
probosces of insectivora. Here is my stove, yonder my kitchen and
scullery, and there hangs my armoury. Now I am going to call my servant.
He is a Highlander like yourselves, boys; at any rate, he appears to be,
for he never wears anything else except the kilt, and he talks a language
which, though I have had him for ten years, I do not yet understand.
Archie, Archie, where are you?'

'Another Archie!' said Dugald, 'and a countryman, too?'

'He is shy of strangers. Archie, boy! He is swinging in some tree-top, no
doubt.'

'What a queer fellow he must be! Wears nothing but the kilt, speaks
Gaelic, swings in tree-tops, and is shy! A _rara avis_ indeed.'