Once there was a toll here, and here clandestine marriages used to be performed by priests, the last of whom died from an accident some time ago.
I was told I would see a sign pointing out the house for border marriages, but probably it has been removed. These border marriages were considered a saving in money and in time. The priests were not slow in looking out for custom, and would even suggest marriage to likely couples. One priest is said to have united no less than one thousand five hundred.
An old lady came out from the door of one of the cots. I asked her civilly, and I hope pleasantly, if she would marry either my coachman or my valet.
She said no, she kept hens, and they were care and trouble enough.
I found some ginger-ale in the cheffonier, and had it out, and we all drank—
“Here’s a health, bonnie Scotland, to thee.”
Then I got the guitar, and sang as the horses trotted merrily on, with music in their footsteps, music in every jingle of their harness, and poetry in their proudly tossing manes.
The scenery around us was pleasant enough, but strange. Of the land we could not see half a mile in any direction, for the scenery was a series of great round knolls, or small hills, cultivated to the top, but treeless and bare. It put me in mind of being in the doldrums in the tropics, every knoll or hill representing an immense smooth wave.
The sea, close down on our right beneath the green-topped beetling cliffs, was as blue as ever I had known it to be.
We stopped for a few minutes to gaze and admire.