Rollo in Scotland

by Jacob Abbott

THE BOYS ON THE BRIDGE.

"At last we came to Inversnaid. We thought it would be a town, but it was not. It was only an inn on the slope of the mountain, near the shore, and by the side of a waterfall. We walked up a steep path to the inn, from the pier. We had to pay twopence apiece for the privilege of landing on the pier. Uncle George asked us whether we would rather walk or ride across the high land to the other valley. We said we did not care. He said that he would rather ride. So he engaged one of the machines. They call the carriages machines. There were two standing in the inn yard. There were two seats to these carriages, but no top, and very little room for any baggage. So it was lucky for us that we had so little.

"While the hostler was harnessing the horse we went to see the waterfall. There was a path leading to it through the bushes. There was a small foot bridge over the stream, just below the waterfall, where we could stand and see the water tumbling down over the rocks.

"While we were there they called us to tell us that the machine was ready. So we went back to the inn. There were two machines ready at the door. One was for another party. There was a lady in that machine, and it was just starting. Ours was just starting, too. They told us that there was a steep hill at the beginning, and that it was customary for the gentlemen to walk up.

"So we walked up. The road lay along the brink of a deep ravine, with the brook that made the waterfall tumbling along over the rocks at the bottom of it.

"When we got to the top of the hill the machine stopped, and we all got in. Waldron rode on the front seat with the driver, and uncle George and I rode behind.

"The country was very wild and dreary. There was nothing to be seen all around but hills and mountains, all covered with brakes and ferns, and moss and heather. There were no woods, no pastures, no fields, and no farm houses. It was the dreariest-looking country I ever saw. In the middle of the way we came to some old stone hovels, with thatched roofs—very dismal-looking dwellings indeed. There was usually one door and one little window by the side of it. The window was about as big as you would make for a horse, in the side of a stable. I looked into one of these hovels. There was no floor, only flat stones laid in the ground, and scarcely any furniture. The Irish shanties, where they are making railroads in America, are very pretty houses compared to them.

"The driver told us that the whole country belonged to a duke. He keeps it to shoot grouse in, in the fall of the year. The grouse is a bird like a partridge. They live on the heather. I saw some of them flying about.

"The road was very good. The duke made it, the driver said. We could see the road a great way before us, along the valley. By and by we saw some people coming. They were a great way off, but we could see that they were travellers, by the umbrellas, and shawls, and knapsacks they had in their hands. Presently we could see a man coming up a hill just before them with a wheelbarrow load of trunks that he was wheeling along. So we knew that it was a party of travellers, coming across from Loch Katrine to Loch Lomond; but we wondered why they did not take a machine, and ride.

"When we came up to them we stopped a moment to talk to them. There were two gentlemen and two ladies. One of the ladies looked pretty tired. They said that there were no machines on the side of the mountain where they came from, and that there was a party there, that arrived before them, who had engaged the first machines that should come; and so they were obliged to walk, and to have their trunks wheeled over on a wheelbarrow.