[[1]] The morning mist on the mountain-tops is so called.
"Well, lad, I start in two days' time for the tame, domestic south of England, so if you are willing I'll venture."
"Oh," answered Creggan flushing a little, "I'm ready, sir, aye ready!"
"Bravo!"
Willie and his mother were off to Portree, so poor Matty would have a lonesome day with only the servants to amuse her. The journey would have been too much for Matty at any rate. After a second breakfast at eleven o'clock they started. One, by the by, can always eat two breakfasts in Skye, just as I do while travelling in my caravan, "The Wanderer".
Oscar went with them of course. Oscar went everywhere. And so much did Creggan love the dog, that his heart beat high and the tears sprang to his eyes when he thought that in about six months' time they would have to part.
And who can blame one for loving a dog?
Right happy were Mr. Nugent and Creggan as they set out over the moor towards the mountains that forenoon, while Oscar ran on in front barking for joy, sometimes starting a bird, and actually pretending to jump after it into the sky.
"If I only had bits of wings," he appeared to say, "I'd soon catch that quack-quacking old duck."
The hills had by this time thrown off their nightcaps and were fully awake, but the wind seemed on the increase, blowing in uncertain squalls, then dying away again into a calm. This is always an ugly sign. Besides, there was a nasty bank of "sugar-loaf clouds", as Creggan called them, rising slowly in the west. Nor did Creggan like the appearance of them, and said so to Mr. Nugent.