to fall. Autumn, apparently, lays her hand in
good time upon the foliage in these northern regions, for some of the
trees had already grown ruddy at her touch.

When I came to the bend of the road I think my heart stood still for a
second or two. There in front of me and to my left--almost, as it
seemed, at my feet--were the heather-covered moors, gloriously purple,
and the tears came into my eyes. I could not help it; it was so
unexpected, and it unlocked too suddenly the chamber where a memory was
preserved--a hallowed, never-to-be-forgotten memory.

Years ago, and long before his sufferings ended, my father was leaning
back in his chair one day, his hand clasping its arms, as his custom
was, when there came into his eyes a look of inexpressible longing,
almost of pain. I went and knelt by his side, and passed my hand
gently through his hair, and asked, "What is it, dad dear?" He drew my
face to his and answered sadly--it was little more than a whisper, for
he was very weak,--"It was the heather calling me, lassie; I felt its
sweet breath upon my cheek for a moment, and longed to fall upon its
comfortable breast. But it cannot be; it cannot be!"

That was ten years ago, and now the heather was to call me and I was to
respond to the call. How long I stood there, with the tear-drops
dimming my vision, I do not know, but presently I became conscious of a
village street, if the few houses which straggled back from the roadway
could with any propriety be termed a village. I walked along the path
and drank in every sight and sound, and thirsted for more. I thought,
in the intoxication of that hour, that peace and contentment must be
the portion of every dweller in that quiet spot. I know it will not be
so, of course. I suppose sorrow and heartache may inhabit that quaint
one-storeyed cottage from which the wreath of blue smoke curls so
lazily; that the seeds of greed and falsehood and discontent may thrive
and grow here, and be just as hateful and hideous as the flowers which
fill the gardens around me are bright and beautiful. But for the
moment I did not realise this.

A woman was washing the flags at her cottage door, and she smiled upon
me as I passed. It was my first human welcome to the moors. At the
sound of my footsteps a whole regiment of hens flew from the hilly
field which was their pasture, and perched in line upon the wall to
give me greeting.

I saw no sign of church or inn; no shop save a