SUMMER HOLIDAYS
IT was the beginning of the summer holidays, and the Gordons, with
Sandy, had come to Skylemore that the young people might spend their
holidays together.
Many pleasant trips had been planned, and the first was to be a picnic
on Loch Katrine, which was not far from Skylemore.
It was early on a bright summer's morning when Dugald, with his four
prancing horses, appeared at the door, and the two Clans of Gordons and
Lindsays, to say nothing of Sandy, who was a MacPherson, piled into the
big break, along with many baskets full of good things.
With a waving of caps and handkerchiefs off they went, and soon they
were driving along the beautiful mountain glens and through the
Trossachs, which means literally a wooded gorge or ravine.
"There is the loch now," cried Don, presently.
"No, that is Loch Achray," said his uncle, "and that mountain is Ben
Venue, but we shall see Loch Katrine very soon;" and it was not long
before Dugald drew up on the very edge of the loch itself, and a
camping-place was soon found under the trees and in sight of Ellen's
Isle.
Rugs were brought from the break and spread on the ground around a big
rock which was to serve as a table. Everybody helped to unpack the big
baskets, for all were as hungry as if they had had no breakfasts.
Not much was said for a time but "Please pass that," and "Please pass
this," and "Isn't this good?" until finally even the boys decided they
had eaten enough.
"Papa, tell us about Ellen's Isle," said Janet, as they all sat around
after lunch, and tried to see who could throw a stone the farthest into
the water.
So Mr. Lindsay told them the story of the "fair Ellen," whom Sir Walter
Scott wrote of in his great poem called "The Lady of the Lake." Ellen
was called "the lady of the lake," and lived with her father on the
little island yonder. Then Mr. Lindsay told them of "Roderick Dhu," and
of the gatherings of the Clan Alpine which took place in the old days
in a glen not far away, and how at a signal armed men wrapped in their
plaids would spring up out of the seemingly lonely dells and glens as
if by magic.
Those were wild days in Scotland long ago, days of fierce fights
and brave deeds, when Clans met and rushed into battle with a wild
"slogan," as their battle-cry was known.
"Sandy says that he does not believe that 'Rob Roy' was a real person;
but he was, and lived right here, didn't he, Uncle Alan?" said Don,
eagerly, in defence of his hero.
"Indeed he did, and you would like to see his old home, wouldn't you,
Don?"
"Wouldn't I!" said Don, and his eyes shone.
"Well, we will go there sometime; it is now a sheep-farm, but was once
the old home of the Macgregors. In 'Rob Roy's' time bands of lawless
men came down from the north to steal cattle and do other kinds of
mischief. So the 'lairds' in these parts paid 'Rob Roy' and his little
band of followers to protect their property from these invaders and
robbers. In after days the band was formed into a regiment called the
'Black Watch,' which to-day is one of the most famous of the Scotch
regiments."
Sir Walter Scott has done much to make this part of Scotland well
known, and people come from all over the world, and especially from
America, anxious to see the beautiful country of rocks and glens and
heather-clad mountains of which he wrote in his famous novels and poems.
From the telling of stories our Clansmen soon turned to singing songs,
for the Scotch are full of sentiment, and are very fond of music. Some
of the most beautiful of our popular songs have come from Scotland.
There is one which is known the world over, and sung as often by little
American cousins as by little Scotch cousins; and that is "Annie
Laurie."
So when Aunt Jessie began to sing "Annie Laurie," all joined in with a
will, and sang one of the sweetest songs the world has ever known:
"They sang of love and not of fame,
Forgot was Scotland's glory.
Each heart recalled a different name,
But all sang 'Annie Laurie.'"
After this there was a general scramble to get the things picked up.
The whole party mounted again to their seats in the break, and Dugald
made the four horses just fly for home; though they did not need much
urging, as every horse seems to know when his head is turned homeward.
* * * * *
"Is that Robert Burns's house?" said Janet, in a disappointed voice.
[Illustration: "OUR LITTLE SCOTCH FRIENDS WERE STANDING BEFORE THE
LITTLE HOUSE AT AYR, WHERE ROBERT BURNS WAS BORN."]
"Yes, my dear," said her father, "great men have often been brought up
in small houses like this. Bobby Burns was only a ploughboy, but he
became a great poet, one of the greatest in the world."
Our little Scotch friends were standing before the little house at
Ayr, where Robert Burns was born. They had come down from Glasgow for
the day to visit that part of Scotland made famous by the poet. It is
hard to say of whom the Scotch people are most fond and proud, Scott
or Burns. The young people had looked forward with a great deal of
pleasure to this visit, and they all felt pretty much as Janet did.
It _was_ a tiny house, what the country people call a "clay biggin,"
with a thatched roof. Inside are many relics of Burns, but the children
were, perhaps, more interested in "Alloway's Auld Haunted Kirk."
This is the small church of which Burns wrote in his poem, called
"Tam-o'-shanter," where Tam saw the witches dance, and from whence
he started on his wild ride, with the witches after him riding on
broomsticks. It is one of the chief attractions for visitors.
"Oh! it is a creepy poem," said Don; and you will all think so, too,
when you have read it.
They saw the "Auld Brig of Ayr," which means the old bridge, across
the river Ayr, and they walked along the "Banks and Braes o' Bonnie
Doon," of which Burns wrote and which he loved so well. They visited
the monument to Burns. Marjorie remarked that it was not a very grand
monument, not nearly so grand as that to Scott in Edinburgh; and she
was quite right.
"Not far from Ayr was the home of Annie Laurie," said Mr. Lindsay, as
the train speeded them back to Glasgow.
"Was she a real person, father?" eagerly exclaimed the little girls
together.
"Indeed she was, though her eyes were black and not blue," said Mr.
Lindsay.
"How do you know?" asked Janet, who liked to be exact.
"Because her portrait is still to be seen at Maxwelton House, near the
town of Dumfries, where she lived," replied her father.
"Well, I'd rather her eyes had been blue," said Marjorie, and the
children kept talking about blue and black eyes until they reached the
great St. Enoch's railway station at Glasgow.
There are so many delightful journeys to be made from Glasgow by rail
and steamer that it is one of the best starting points in all Scotland
for excursions, of which all children and most old folks are so fond.
The Lindsays and the Gordons were accordingly to stay in Glasgow for a
week, that the young people might enjoy more of these rare treats, and
take some of the lovely sails on the river Clyde and among the near-by
islands.
Don and Sandy were having some hot discussions as to which was the
finest city in Scotland,--Glasgow or Edinburgh. This was about the only
thing that the boys ever disagreed on. Sandy's father came originally
from Glasgow, so Sandy always stood up for it.
"It's a big city, and lots richer than Edinburgh; and think of all
the business that is done here, and of the lots and lots of ships
that come and go from all parts of the world. It's the largest city in
Scotland, too, and the second city of the kingdom," Sandy would say.
"But it's not so beautiful as Edinburgh. It hasn't anything like
Princes Street, nor so many famous old buildings and historic places,
nor our great colleges. Anybody had rather live in Edinburgh--you know
you would, Sandy," Don would argue.
And the truth of it all was, both boys were right.
Early one morning found our party gathered on the steamer _Lord of the
Isles_ for a cruise around the islands off the coast. They passed the
great ship-building yards of the Clyde, the largest in the world, as
they steamed down the river. The ships built upon the Clyde have always
been famous all over the world.
"There is Gourock Bay, where the great racing yachts anchor," said Mr.
Lindsay. "It was always thought to be a lucky place to set sail. It was
from this bay that many of the yachts sailed for America when they were
to make the attempt to capture the 'America's Cup,' that you doubtless
all know about; but while these Clyde-built boats were fine yachts,
none of them have been lucky enough to bring back the cup."
Next was seen the Island of Bute and the old Castle of Rothesay. Here
they entered a narrow bit of water, called the Kyles of Bute, from
which they entered Loch Fyne, famous for its fresh herrings.
Another steamer took them through the Crinan Canal, and thence to Oban,
the capital of the Western Highlands.
In this part of Scotland, called by every one the Highlands, are the
great deer forests of many thousands of acres, belonging to some of
the great families of Scotland, where the wild deer is hunted, or
"stalked," as it is called. Here, too, are wild moors, stretching for
miles and miles, where few people live except the shepherds who look
after the flocks.
There was another fine summer which was enjoyed greatly by our little
Scotch cousins, and that was when some young American cousins came
to visit the Lindsays, and they all went on Uncle Alan's yacht for a
lovely sail of many days, among the islands which fringe the northern
and western coasts of Scotland. It was on this occasion that they all
went to the Isle of Skye (some of you have probably heard of the Skye
terriers), and they stopped, too, at the Shetland Isles, where the
little horses come from. Every girl and boy wants to own a dear little
Shetland pony.
Didn't they have a splendid time on this trip! That was the time, too,
when Donald and Sandy got left behind on one of the islands where they
had all landed for a picnic,--but that's another story!
So many little cousins are waiting to talk about themselves that we
must really get our little Clan safely back home, and leave them for
the present to talk over the good times they have had together.
THE END.
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Small, Small Child, A. By E. Livingston Prescott.
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The Giant Scissors.
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Two Little Knights of Kentucky.
WHO WERE THE LITTLE COLONEL'S NEIGHBORS.
In this volume the Little Colonel returns to us like an old friend, but
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Mildred's Inheritance.
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Big Brother.
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Ole Mammy's Torment.
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The Quilt That Jack Built.
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Flip's Islands of Providence.
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A Little Puritan's First Christmas.
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A Little Daughter of Liberty.
The author's motive for this story is well indicated by a quotation
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"One ride is memorable in the early history of the American Revolution,
the well-known ride of Paul Revere. Equally deserving of commendation
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A Loyal Little Maid.
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A Little Puritan Rebel.
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A Little Puritan Bound Girl.
A story of Boston in Puritan days, which is of great interest to
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The story of a "Little Puritan Cavalier" who tried with all his boyish
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A Dog of Flanders: A CHRISTMAS STORY.
Too well and favorably known to require description.
The Nurnberg Stove.
This beautiful story has never before been published at a popular price.
_By FRANCES MARGARET FOX_
The Little Giant's Neighbours.
A charming nature story of a "little giant" whose neighbours were the
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Farmer Brown and the Birds.
A little story which teaches children that the birds are man's best
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Betty of Old Mackinaw.
A charming story of child-life, appealing especially to the little
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Brother Billy.
The story of Betty's brother, and some further adventures of Betty
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Mother Nature's Little Ones.
Curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, or "childhood,"
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How Christmas Came to the Mulvaneys.
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