Donald was at first sight what would, in England, be called a lad, till, on closer inspection, his thick loose curls were perceived to be mingled, not sparingly, with grey. These he shook down over his wild light-blue eyes whenever he spoke, but, as he heard the mistress’s remark, he signified his appreciation of her confidence by throwing his head backwards, and, taking an inverted view of his charge, he opened his wide mouth and uttered the exclamation “Hech!” with a prolonged guttural aspiration. Then he addressed himself volubly to the pony in English and Gaelic indifferently, and not a word would he utter except for the information of this, his chosen friend and companion, in answer to any questions put to him.
Merrily they travelled, for the roads in Argyleshire are excellent, and the jolting of the cart, consequently, much less than they had ventured to anticipate; so that there was nothing to interrupt their enjoyment of the varied, always lovely, scenery through which their road lay. Now they crossed an elevated ridge, where heath and grey rock were mingled in rich though subdued tints; then they descended through a wood of fairy birches, whose light foliage quivered against the pure blue sky, to the margin of the loch, which glistened in the morning sunlight, on one hand, and the steep grey rock formed a wall on the other, over which, amongst pines and stunted oaks, the broad heads and short wide horns of the Highland cattle would occasionally appear. As they ascended the glen new hills came into view, some apparently of smooth velvet surface, descending with an easy slope towards the waterside, where a fringe of varied wood was reflected so clearly that it was difficult to distinguish it from the reality; others, dark and rugged, refusing to smile even under the joyous rays of the young day. Bayntun was less obdurate in his gloom, but he seemed to check himself whenever he yielded to the enlivening influences of place and circumstances; while Hardy gave himself up so entirely to the pure pleasure of the moment, that his chest heaved, and his eyes filled with tears, and he could have thrown himself down upon the heather in an ecstasy of joy.
“How dark and gloomy that glen looks between the steep mountain and the round smooth hill on the opposite side of the lake!” exclaimed Helen Grey.
“What is that glen called, Donald?” asked Mr Hardy.
“Ye ken the name as weel as any other word ye speak, Sandie, so come away and dinna be wasting your breath with asking idle questions,” said Donald, addressing the pony. Then, giving a leer at Helen from behind his grizzly locks, he began singing a few words of a Gaelic song; next he addressed some sentences in the same language to the pony, accompanied by a chuckling laugh; after which, he tossed back his head to take another inverted view of the party, and then giving a jerk to the short bridle by which he led the pony, he nodded to him in a patronising manner, saying, “Your memory’s short, Sandie; but we should ay pity folks that’s weak in mind, and so I’ll answer ye. Yon’s Glen Bogie, Sandie,” he continued almost in a whisper; “but ye shouldna go there in the full of the moon, Sandie, for there’s sights and sounds in Glen Bogie that would make a wise man quake and loosen his teeth in his head, much more a poor daft lad like you, Sandie. Dinna ye gang there, Sandie, to hear the Campbells come down the glen to cry the coronach over their dead, and them dead and gone themselves these hundred years. Ha! ha! Sandie. I heard it once mysel’ when the wind soughed in the trees and the burn roared amongst the stones; and I heard the rustle of their tartans, and when the moon shone out I saw them. Hush, Sandie! Whisht, my bonnie man! The sun shines now, and we’re no going to Glen Bogie.”
The convulsive jerks he had given to the bridle here made the pony so restive, that Donald’s whole attention was required to quiet him.
“That all sounds very delightful,” said Helen, still gazing at the dark glen which branched off from the wider one up which they were proceeding.
“Have you a fancy for spectral coronachs, Helen?” asked Hardy, smiling.
“I must go to Glen Bogie,” she replied in a very decided tone.
“And what says the little wife?” continued Arthur.