“What is the matter with you, Nicie?” she asked. “What are you looking at up there?”
“I’m won’erin’ what my mother’ll be deein’,” answered Nicie: “she’s up there.”
“Up there!” exclaimed Ginny, and, turning, stared at the mountain too, expecting to perceive Nicie’s mother somewhere upon the face of it.
“Na, na, missie! ye canna see her,” said the girl; “she’s no in sicht. She’s ower ayont there. Only gien we war up whaur ye see yon twa three sheep again’ the lift (sky), we cud see the bit hoosie whaur her an’ my father bides.”
“How I should like to see your father and mother, Nicie!” exclaimed Ginevra.
“Weel, I’m sure they wad be richt glaid to see yersel’, missie, ony time ’at ye likit to gang an’ see them.”
“Why shouldn’t we go now, Nicie? It’s not a dangerous place, is it?”
“No, missie. Glashgar’s as quaiet an’ weel-behaved a hill as ony in a’ the cweentry,” answered Nicie, laughing. “She’s some puir, like the lave o’ ’s, an’ hasna muckle to spare, but the sheep get a feow nibbles upon her, here an’ there; an’ my mither manages to keep a coo, an’ get plenty o’ milk frae her tee.”
“Come, then, Nicie. We have plenty of time. Nobody wants either you or me, and we shall get home before any one misses us.”
Nicie was glad enough to consent; they turned at once to the hill, and began climbing. But Nicie did not know this part of it nearly so well as that which lay between Glashruach and the cottage, and after they had climbed some distance, often stopping and turning to look down on the valley below, the prospect of which, with its streams and river, kept still widening and changing as they ascended, they arrived at a place where the path grew very doubtful, and she could not tell in which of two directions they ought to go.