father was a Cumberland man, and he was full of
the lore of the hills and dales. One of the oldest legends of the Lake
mountains tells of the time of the plague. The people were afraid to go
to market, afraid to meet at church, and afraid to pass on the highway.
When any lonely body was ill, the nearest neighbour left meat and drink
at the door of the afflicted house, and knocked and ran away. In these
days, a widow with two sons lived in one of the darkest of the valleys.
The younger son died, and the body had to be carried over the mountains
to be buried. Its course lay across Sty Head Pass, a bleak and 'brant'
place, where the winds are often high. The eldest son, a strong-hearted
lad, undertook the duty. He strapped the coffin on to the back of a
young horse, and they started away. The day was wild, and on the top of
the pass, where the path dips into Wastdale, between the breast of Great
Gable and the heights of Scawfell, the wind rose to a gale. The horse
was terrified. It broke away and galloped over the fells, carrying its
burden with it. The lad followed and searched for it, but in vain, and
he had to go home at last, unsatisfied.

[Illustration: WASTWATER FROM STY HEAD PASS]

[Illustration: THE HORSE BROKE AWAY]

[Illustration: SOMETHING STRAPPED ON ITS BACK]

This was in the spring, and nearly all the summer through the surviving
son of the widow was out on the mountains, trying to recover the runaway
horse, but never once did he catch sight of it, though sometimes, as he
turned homeward at night, he thought he heard, in the gathering
darkness, above the sough of the wind, the horse's neigh. Then winter
came, and the mother died. Once more the dead body had to be carried
over the fells for burial, and once again the coffin was strapped on the
back of a horse. It was an old mare that was chosen this time, the
mother of the young one that had been lost. The snow lay deep on the
pass, and from the cliffs of the Scawfell pikes it hung in great
toppling masses. All went well with the little funeral party until they
came to the top of the pass, and though the day was dead calm the son
held the rein with a hand that was like a vice. But just as the mare
reached the spot where the wind had frightened the young horse, there
was a terrific noise. An immense body of the snow had parted at that
instant from the beetling heights overhead, and rushed down into the
valley with the movement as of a mighty earthquake, and