Yon's the hills o' Sutherlan'. Ye see yon ane like a
cairn? that's a great freen' to the fisher fowk to tell them whaur
they are. Yon's the laich co'st o' Caithness. An' yonner's the
north pole, only ye canna see sae far. Jist think, my lord, hoo
gran' wad be the blusterin' blap o' the win' aboot the turrets,
as ye stude at yer window on a winter's day, luikin oot ower the
gurly twist o' the watters, the air fu' o' flichterin snaw, the
cloods a mile thick abune yer heid, an' no a leevin cratur but yer
ain fowk nearer nor the fairm toon ower the broo yonner!"
"I don't see anything very attractive in your description," said
his lordship. "And where," he added, looking around him, "would be
the garden?"
"What cud ye want wi' a gairden, an' the sea oot afore ye there?
The sea's bonnier than ony gairden. A gairden's maist aye the same,
or it changes sae slow, wi' the ae flooer gaein' in, an' the ither
flooer comin' oot, 'at ye maist dinna nottice the odds. But the
sea's never twa days the same. Even lauchin' she never lauchs twise
wi' the same face, an' whan she sulks, she has a hunner w'ys o'
sulkin'."
"And how would you get a carriage up here?" said the marquis.
"Fine that, my lord. There's a ro'd up as far's yon neuk. An' for
this broo, I wad clear awa the lowse stanes, an' lat the nait'ral
gerse grow sweet an' fine, an' turn a lot o' bonny heelan' sheep
on till't. I wad keep yon ae bit o' whuns, for though they're rouch
i' the leaf; they blaw sae gowden.
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