"
"Nay, but ye mistake my country," said the young man, looking round upon
them with tragic fixity, till his eye lighted up and his cheek kindled
with a sudden enthusiasm to right their errors. "There are not perpetual
snow and wolves at all in it!--except snow in winter, and--well--a
little in summer just sometimes, and a 'gaberlunzie' or two stalking
about here and there, if ye may call them dangerous. Eh, but you should
take a summer jarreny to Edinboro', and Arthur's Seat, and all round
there, and then go on to the lochs, and all the Highland scenery--in May
and June--and you would never say 'tis the land of wolves and perpetual
snow!"
"Of course not--it stands to reason," said Buzzford. "'Tis barren
ignorance that leads to such words. He's a simple home-spun man, that
never was fit for good company--think nothing of him, sir."
"And do ye carry your flock bed, and your quilt, and your crock, and
your bit of chiney? or do ye go in bare bones, as I may say?" inquired
Christopher Coney.
"I've sent on my luggage--though it isn't much; for the voyage is long."
Donald's eyes dropped into a remote gaze as he added: "But I said to
myself, 'Never a one of the prizes of life will I come by unless I
undertake it!' and I decided to go."
A general sense of regret, in which Elizabeth-Jane shared not least,
made itself apparent in the company.
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