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. As she looked at Farfrae from the
back of the settle she decided that his statements showed him to be no
less thoughtful than his fascinating melodies revealed him to be cordial
and impassioned. She admired the serious light in which he looked at
serious things. He had seen no jest in ambiguities and roguery, as the
Casterbridge toss-pots had done; and rightly not--there was none. She
disliked those wretched humours of Christopher Coney and his tribe; and
he did not appreciate them. He seemed to feel exactly as she felt about
life and its surroundings--that they were a tragical rather than a
comical thing; that though one could be gay on occasion, moments
of gaiety were interludes, and no part of the actual drama. It was
extraordinary how similar their views were.