His place of rest, and Providence his guide.
He hastened through “woods and wilds,” with no immediate purpose in view save that of quitting the domains of Hawksglen. On he went, heedless that the hours sped away on fleet wings. But he paused to consider his course when the sun was setting amid amber cloudlets, and the balmy influence of the “merry month of May” was in the gentle western breeze that now fanned the wanderer’s hot cheek. He remembered a hamlet at some distance, where he thought of staying till next morning; and fortunately he carried a well-filled purse, which would answer all requirements for a time.
[Chapter IV.]
Wi’ cauk and keel I’ll win your bread,
And spindles and whorles for them wha need.
Whilk is a gentle trade indeed,
To carry the Gaberlunzie on.