ay to
fairyland, little Princess. I buried myself under the 'shields and
bracelets,' and I buried my talents, such as they were. For a while
Somerled tried to deserve the great name he had chosen--but only for a
little while. When by accident he grew rich, he began to wallow. Not a
picture worthy of his boyish ambition has he painted for five years.
What he has done have been 'potboilers.' He forgot that he was an
artist, and wanted only to be a millionaire. Disgusting! Now that I've
told you this, do you--a MacDonald--bid me to take the name again at the
border, where, as a boy, I laid it down--long ago, with high hopes and
vows romantic enough to please even you?"

"Yes," I said, "I, a MacDonald, bid you to take up the name, and with it
all the old hopes and the old ambitions, as you come back into your own
land. Forget your silly money, and remember only that you're an artist
in a lovely motor-car. Won't _that_ make you happy--and a boy again?"

"Something is making me happy--and a boy again," he echoed.

IV

Any dull body who says that the minute you're over the border everything
is not changed, can have no eyes--nor nose, because even the smell is
different. It is--I'm sure it is--the adorable smell of peat. I have
never yet smelt peat, but this is like my dreams.

Oh, how beautiful everything was as we crossed the span of the stone
rainbow! A fresh wind had sprung up and out of the brilliant sunshine a
shower was spurting, like diamonds set in gold. I saw the dazzling sight
with eyes full of rain and curls.

"Here we'll find the rainbow key--on _this_ side the bridge, in the
keeping of the Border Saints or Wizards," said I; for the hills and
lowlands that rolled away to the making of Scotland had a colour as if
stained with the fadeless, dried rainbows of centuries. Mingled with
peat was the tea-rose scent of summer rain and of running water, which
is as the fragrance of fresh-cut melons. Clouds like huge white brooms
swept the sky, and surging suddenly round us was a wave of sheep,
charming, reserved, Scottish sheep with ears of a different shape from
the English kind, like those of exaggerated rabbits. They looked at us
with horizontal eyes of pale brass cut across with narrow slits of jet,
and their thick wool, wet with rain, sparkled as if encrusted with
diamond dust. With them was a collie, much collie-er than English
collies, with a pawky Scottish smile. Not that I know what pawky means,
but i