Untitled - Beeldbibliotheek

OUR MARCH TO THE WEST 163was loaded up, was quite as great as that ofSlEGLINDA.The tinker, who is a great amateur of rusticbeauty,reproduceassured usperhaps a pityI am afraid that I must nothis conversation verbatim which isthat we were now within a mileof what he considered the blankest, blankestpiece of sceneryin the North of Scotland :learning that we were likely to catch him up againon our return, we parted, the various small headsdisappearing beneath the surface as soon as theyhad grinned a last good-bye at the retreating"gorryvon."And so we came down into Gairloch, but wehad two villainous little hills to negotiate in thelast half mile of our journey, and both brakeswere on to the full when we came to rest in anopen spacenear the hotel. There was a littlesandy bay on the far side of the road, greatmountains shut us in on the landward side,richly clothed with spruce and birch, and I donot think that in the whole of Scotland therecan be any spot more perfect. I note that theinhabitants all speak of Gairloch in caressingtones, as if it were a small child or a pet animal,dwelling lovingly upon its syllables and givingto the name a gentle charm ;and we were fortu-