Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 10
General
Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 10
Scottish Borders (Scotland) -- Fiction
Our two friends proceeded for a short distance farther together; and
before they parted, James not only gave the young man the best
instructions he could with respect to the road, but also invited him to
come to his cottage, which was just at hand, and partake of some bread
and cheese, assuring him at the same time "that he wad get nae meat on
the hill, and that his guidwife wad be as proud as a duchess to hae sic
a guest under her roof."
The stranger thanked James most heartily for his kindness, but civilly
declined the offered entertainment. They parted with mutual esteem.
James went home with his meal, and the stranger went on his way.
By this time the sun had sunk to the verge of the horizon, and the sky,
which had been previously clear, began to overcast. A fresh gale, too,
sprung up from the east, and blew full in the stranger's face. Night was
approaching fast; and he had five miles to travel upon an intricate
hilly road, before he could reach any place of shelter. The moon, upon
which he had depended for light, now threatened to be of little service;
for though she occasionally burst upon his eye through the ragged edges
of the driving clouds, it was but a momentary flash, which deepened,
instead of dissipating the surrounding darkness. He buttoned his coat,
drew his hat closer down upon his head, and made all the speed he could
against the tempest, which now blew so violently that it sometimes
brought him to a dead stand; and notwithstanding of his perilous
circumstances, he could not refrain from laughing at himself, as he
struggled with the viewless element which opposed his progress, and
whistled defiance to his vengeance.
He at length came to a place where the road divided, and, turning his
back to the storm, he stood for a few minutes to recollect the
instructions which he had received from his late guide. A number of
little lights now caught his eye, twinkling from the cottage windows in
the vale below; and as he again proceeded on his way, he could not help
looking back, and indulging a momentary feeling of envy over the
condition of those who were sitting warm and dry by their own firesides,
while he was toiling amid the tempest. The poorest inhabitants of these
cottages, thought he, are, for the present, blessed, when compared with
me. They possess all the comforts of home, and perhaps do not appreciate
their worth, while I am destitute of all but a deep knowledge of the
value of what I do not possess.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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