I will never forget the look that the Gorb turned on me. He was walking somewhat before me, but when he heard my reason for disliking Galloway he wheeled about, and, taking one of his most striking upright positions, with his lean shoulders set up like two pins, he stared at me with his mouth wide open; and then put the following questions to me at long intervals.
"Grass! eh! How do you mean?"
"Look at it," said I; "What substance is in that wiry stuff, and on these hills of black heather!"
The Gorb's jaws fell down with dismay. He visibly thought that I was deranged, but he answered me mildly to humour my malady.
"True, the grass is not good; it never was, and never will be so. But I have not observed that you ever eat much of it; nor can I see how a man's happiness any way depends upon the quality of the grass of a country."
"If that be all the sense that you have," thought I, "I will disdain for my part to exchange another word with you on the subject. Since you think that a man's happiness can depend on any thing else but good grass, you shall be followed no longer by me."
"Well," continued he, after waiting a while for an answer, "I see you are sulky about this whim, but I will humour it. I have nearly finished my terms among the mountains, and we shall descend upon the shores, where there is as good grass as any in Scotland, and I promise you full liberty to go into every field that you chuse, and take your bellyful of it. I have likewise many things to teach you, which will amuse you in the highest degree, and which belong to the sublime art of legerdemain."
"What is that?" said I.