eir aid the traveller would of a certainty be
lost on the moors. Poor little linty-locked ones, imprisoned in the
tiny cot in those bitter days!

Margot's thoughts flew homeward, to the well-kept roads near her own
home; to the grumbling and indignation of the family, if perchance a
recent fall of snow had not been swept away as speedily as might be:
"The road was thick with mud. Impossible to cross without splashing
one's shoes. The snow was left to melt on the pavement--disgraceful!"
The Southerner railed at the discomfort of a greasy roadway; the
Northerner was thankful to escape death by the aid of a warning pole!

Suddenly and unexpectedly the road took a quick swerve to the right, and
lo, a narrow glen leading apparently into the very heart of the
mountains.

Glenaire village at last! A little group of cottages, two whitewashed
kirks, a schoolhouse, a post office, a crowded emporium where everything
was to be purchased, from a bale of wincey to a red herring or a coil of
rope; a baker's shop, sending forth a warm and appetising odour; a
smithy, through the open door of which came out a glare of heat,
astonishingly welcome after the long, chill drive; bare-footed children
playing at tares by the wayside; an old man in a plaid, smoking a pipe
and turning on the new arrivals a kindly, weather-beaten face,--these
were the impressions left on Margot's mind as the horses put on an extra
spurt, knowing full well that rest and food were near at hand.

After the little group of houses there came another stretch of road for
perhaps three-quarters of a mile; a road which wound along between
moorland on the right, and on the left a straggling tarn, thickly
surrounded by rushes. The cone-shaped mountain at the head of the glen
towered ever nearer and nearer, until it seemed as if it must be
impossible to drive a hundred yards farther. Seen in the broad light of
a summer afternoon it was wonderfully beautiful; but it was a wild and
lonesome spot, and, given cloud or rain, its very grandeur and isolation
would increase the sense of gloom.

Margot had time to shiver at an imaginary picture before an exclamation
from Ron attracted her attention. There it stood! the little white inn,
nestled beneath the shelter of a rock, so near to the head of the glen
that the road came to an abrupt ending but a few yards farther on. A
door in the middle; two small-paned windows on either side; a row of
five windows overhead; to the