ere like scarlet birds,
against the gray walls and gray arches of the town. But I suppose
people in St. Andrews think even more about golf than about
learning, don't they? There were hundreds of all ages on the
links--so grave and eager: and at the hotels they _never_ know when
anybody will come in to meals. There's the cemetery, too; that
shows the importance of golf. All the 'smartest' monuments are of
famous golfers, knitted caps and clubs and everything, neatly done
in marble. But I wonder anybody ever contrives to die at St.
Andrews. I never felt such delicious air!

Crossing the ferry for Dundee was fun. It was a very big boat, and
several other motors on it as well as ours. We sat in Blunderbore
all the way across the wide sheet of silver that was the Tay,
gazing up at the marvellous giant bridge, and then we spent several
hours in Dundee, seeing the Steeple, and Queen Mary's Orchard, and
lots of things. This was so near the Round House that I suppose the
Vannecks would have gone if it hadn't been for me. But I am the
stumbling block in everybody's way.

Going on to Aberdeen, we ran along a fine coast dotted with ruined
castles--Dunottar for one, where the Regalia was hidden once.

We stopped at Arbroath, which Doctor Johnson admired, to see the
great shell of an Abbey, red as dried blood; and all the old town
is built out of it, so no wonder there isn't much left but an
immense nave. But just think, Arbroath is Sir Walter Scott's
'Fairport,' and I must read "The Antiquarian" again, all about the
caves and the secret treasure found in them. As for the treasure of
the Abbey, it is nothing less than the heart of William the Lion.
He had it nicely buried near the high altar, as long ago as the
twelfth century, wasn't it? But in 1810 they dug it up, found it
had ossified, and now they simply have it lying about in a glass
case, practically mixed up with the bones of a lady who left money
to the Abbey (she wouldn't, if she'd known what they'd do!) and the
singularly long thigh bones of a particularly wicked earl. It was
an earl who married a sister of the Lion's, and, because he was
jealous, threw her out of the window.

We had to go through Montrose, where the great Marquis was born,
and where Sir James Douglas set sail with the Bruce's