HEATHER AND SNOW BY GEORGE MACDONALD CONTENTS I. A RUNAWAY RACE II. MOTHER AND SON III. AT THE FOOT OF THE HORN IV. DOG-STEENIE V. COLONEL AND SERGEANT VI. MAN-STEENIE VII. CORBYKNOWE VIII. DAVID AND HIS DAUGHTER IX. AT CASTLE WEELSET X. DAVID AND FRANCIS XI. KIRSTY AND PHEMY XII. THE EARTH-HOUSE XIII. A VISIT FROM FRANCIS GORDON XIV. STEENIE’S HOUSE XV. PHEMY CRAIG XVI. SHAM LOVE XVII. A NOVEL ABDUCTION XVIII. PHEMY’S CHAMPION XIX. FRANCIS GORDON’S CHAMPION XX. MUTUAL MINISTRATION XXI. PHEMY YIELDS PLACE XXII. THE HORN XXIII. THE STORM AGAIN XXIV. HOW KIRSTY FARED XXV. KIRSTY’S DREAM XXVI. HOW DAVID FARED XXVII. HOW MARION FARED XXVIII. HUSBAND AND WIFE XXIX. DAVID, MARION, KIRSTY, SNOOTIE, AND WHAT WAS LEFT OF STEENIE XXX. FROM SNOW TO FIRE XXXI. KIRSTY SHOWS RESENTMENT XXXII. IN THE WORKSHOP XXXIII. A RACE WITH DEATH XXXIV. BACK FROM THE GRAVE XXXV. FRANCIS COMES TO HIMSELF XXXVI. KIRSTY BESTIRS HERSELF XXXVII. A GREAT GULF XXXVIII. THE NEIGHBOURS XXXIX. KIRSTY GIVES ADVICE XL. MRS. GORDON XLI. TWO HORSEWOMEN XLII. THE LAIRD AND HIS MOTHER XLIII. THE CORONATION XLIV. KIRSTY’S TOCHER XLV. KIRSTY’S SONG CHAPTER I A RUNAWAY RACE Upon neighbouring stones, earth-fast, like two islands of an archipelago, in an ocean of heather, sat a boy and a girl, the girl knitting, or, as she would have called it, _weaving_ a stocking, and the boy, his eyes fixed on her face, talking with an animation that amounted almost to excitement. He had great fluency, and could have talked just as fast in good English as in the dialect in which he was now pouring out his ambitions--the broad Saxon of Aberdeen. He was giving the girl to understand that he meant to be a soldier like his father, and quite as good a one as he. But so little did he know of himself or the world, that, with small genuine impulse to action, and moved chiefly by the anticipated results of it, he saw success already his, and a grateful country at his feet. His inspiration was so purely ambition, that, even if, his mood unchanged, he were to achieve much for his country, she could hardly owe him gratitude. ‘I’ll no hae the warl’ lichtly (_make light of_) _me_!’ he said. ‘Mebbe the warl’ winna tribble itsel aboot ye sae muckle as e’en to lichtly ye!’ returned his companion quietly. ‘_Ye_ do naething ither!’ retorted the boy, rising, and looking down on her in displeasure. ‘What for are ye aye girdin at me? A body canna lat his thouchts gang, but ye’re doon upo them, like doos upo corn!’ ‘I wadna be girdin at ye, Francie, but that I care ower muckle aboot ye to lat ye think I haud the same opingon o’ ye ’at ye hae o’ yersel,’ answered the girl, who went on with her knitting as she spoke.