Margot and Ronald slept through their long journey with the fortitude of
youth, enjoyed a delicious breakfast at Perth, took train again for a
couple of hours, and finally set out on the last and most enjoyable
stage of their journey--the six-mile drive to the head of Glenaire.
The first portion of the road gave little promise of beauty, but with
every mile that was traversed the scenery began to assume a wilder and a
sterner aspect. The mountains were high and bare, with few trees upon
their banks, except here and there a patch of dark green firs. When the
sun retired behind a cloud they looked somewhat grim and forbidding, but
as it emerged from the shelter they became in a moment a soft, blooming
purple; a wonder of beauty against the high, blue sky. In the valley
were rolling plains of meadowland, of richest, most verdant green, with
here and there a blaze of golden gorse or of thickly-growing rushes, to
mark the presence of hidden water.
At long intervals was seen a little white cottage, set back from the
road, where some lonely shepherd tended his sheep; and, at the sound of
wheels, little linty-headed children would rush out to the gate, and
stand gazing at the strangers with big round eyes, which looked light
against the tan of their faces.
What a life for young and old to live all the year round, looking out on
the grim bare hills; alone with God and Nature, and the dumb, patient
animals! Day after day alone, in a little niche between grey rocks;
alone in the summer-time, when the winds blew soft, and the buttercups
made splashes of gold across the green; alone in the winter, when the
mountains seemed to shut out the light, and the snow lay deep on the
ground.
Margot looked with a shudder at the tall poles set here and there along
the road. She had inquired as to their purpose, and had been informed
that they were so placed to act as landmarks; for when the drifts lay
deep, the ends of the poles served to point out the direction of the
road, whereas without their 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 right a garden stocked with vegetables and
a tangle of bright-coloured flowers; to the left the stable-yard. This
was the Nag's Head, and in the doorway stood the redoubtable Mrs McNab
herself, staring with steely eyes at the daring feminine intruder.
The one overpowering impression made by Mrs McNab was cleanliness! She
was so obtrusively, aggressively, immaculately clean, that the like of
her had never before dazzled the eyes of the benighted Southern
visitors. Her lilac print gown was glossy from the press of the iron;
the hands folded across the snowy apron were puffed and lined from
recent parboiling; her face shone like a mirror from a generous use of
good yellow soap. White stockings showed above her black felt slippers;
her hair--red streaked with grey--was plastered down on each side of her
head, and, for greater security, tied with a broad black ribbon. A
stiff white collar was fastened by a slab of pebble rimmed in silver,
which proudly imagined itself to be an ornamental brooch. There was not
a single feminine curve in her body; stiff and square she stood, like a
sentinel on guard, her lips pressed into a thin line; in her eyes a
smouldering flame.
Margot took her in, with one swift comprehensive glance, as the driver
reined up his tired horses before the door. A temper; a quick temper, a
temper easily provoked, but a kindly woman nevertheless. No country
bumpkin, but a shrewd, capable business woman, with two light blue eyes
fixed stolidly on the main chance; a woman, moreover, blessed with a
sense of humour; else why those deep lines stretching from nose to chin;
that radiating nest of wrinkles round the eyes?
Margot's courage revived at the sight. She sprang down lightly from her
perch and advanced towards the house, smiling in her most fascinating
manner.
"How do you do, Mrs McNab? We have arrived, you see. So glad to be
here at last!"
The mistress of the inn stared into her face, stolidly unmoved.
"It was two brithers I was expecting. I'm no caring for leddies!"
"You like gentlemen better? Oh, so do I--_Much_!" cried Margot with a
gush. "But they need us to look after them, don't they? My brother is
not at all strong. The drive has been delightful, but rather cold, all
the same. I am afraid he may be chilled." She stretched out a little
ungloved hand, and laid it lightly on the hard red fist. "Feel! We
_should_ love some tea!"
Mrs McNab looked down at the delicate little hand, up into the pleading
eyes, and over her set square face there passed a contortion,--there is
really no other word to describe it,--a contortion of unwilling
amusement. The chin dropped, the lips twitched, the red lines which did
duty for eyebrows wrinkled towards the nose. Similarly affected, an
Irishwoman would have invoked all the saints in her calendar, and rained
welcomes and blessings in a breath; an Englishwoman would have smiled a
gracious welcome; but Mrs McNab drew away from the beguiling touch,
turned a broad back on her guests, and with a curt "Come yer ways!" led
the way into the house.
Behind her back Margot beamed and grimaced triumphantly to her
confederate. Victory was in the air! Mrs McNab could not refuse to
grant a night's shelter to a tired and chilly traveller, and by to-
morrow--Margot smiled to herself, recalling the contortion of the dour
Scotch face,--by to-morrow she was complacently satisfied that Mrs
McNab would no longer wish to be rid of her unexpected guest!