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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

"St. Ives, Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England"

'
'So, ye're for England, are ye?' said he.
I told him yes.
'Weel, there's waur places, I believe,' was his reply; and he
relapsed into a silence which was not broken during a quarter of an
hour of steady walking.
This interval brought us to the foot of a bare green valley, which
wound upwards and backwards among the hills. A little stream came
down the midst and made a succession of clear pools; near by the
lowest of which I was aware of a drove of shaggy cattle, and a man
who seemed the very counterpart of Mr. Sim making a breakfast upon
bread and cheese. This second drover (whose name proved to be
Candlish) rose on our approach.
'Here's a mannie that's to gang through with us,' said Sim. 'It
was the auld wife, Gilchrist, wanted it.'
'Aweel, aweel,' said the other; and presently, remembering his
manners, and looking on me with a solemn grin, 'A fine day!' says
he.
I agreed with him, and asked him how he did.
'Brawly,' was the reply; and without further civilities, the pair
proceeded to get the cattle under way. This, as well as almost all
the herding, was the work of a pair of comely and intelligent dogs,
directed by Sim or Candlish in little more than monosyllables.
Presently we were ascending the side of the mountain by a rude
green track, whose presence I had not hitherto observed.


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