The Heart of Mid-Lothian - Penn State University

her happiness to think she might be obliged to reside at
a distance from her father, and she was aware that there
were strong objections to his actually living in the same
house with Butler. But this brief distance was the very
thing which she could have wished.
The farmhouse was on the plan of an improved cottage,
and contrived with great regard to convenience;
an excellent little garden, an orchard, and a set of offices
complete, according to the best ideas of the time,
combined to render it a most desirable habitation for
the practical farmer, and far superior to the hovel at
Woodend, and the small house at Saint Leonard’s Crags.
The situation was considerably higher than that of the
Manse, and fronted to the west. The windows commanded
an enchanting view of the little vale over which
the mansion seemed to preside, the windings of the
stream, and the firth, with its associated lakes and romantic
islands. The hills of Dumbartonshire, once possessed
by the fierce clan of MacFarlanes, formed a crescent
behind the valley, and far to the right were seen the
dusky and more gigantic mountains of Argyleshire, with
Sir Walter Scott
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a seaward view of the shattered and thunder-splitten
peaks of Arran.
But to Jeanie, whose taste for the picturesque, if she
had any by nature, had never been awakened or cultivated,
the sight of the faithful old May Hettly, as she
opened the door to receive them in her clean toy,
Sunday’s russet-gown, and blue apron, nicely smoothed
down before her, was worth the whole varied landscape.
The raptures of the faithful old creature at seeing Jeanie
were equal to her own, as she hastened to assure her,
“that baith the gudeman and the beasts had been as
weel seen after as she possibly could contrive.” Separating
her from the rest of the company, May then hurried
her young mistress to the offices, that she might receive
the compliments she expected for her care of the cows.
Jeanie rejoiced, in the simplicity of her heart, to see her
charge once more; and the mute favourites of our heroine,
Gowans, and the others, acknowledged her presence
by lowing, turning round their broad and decent brows
when they heard her well-known “Pruh, my leddy—
pruh, my woman,” and, by various indications, known