lettering, "Mrs. brockie tea and Coffee," and who was willing to
give him quarters. There he supped handsomely off ham and eggs,
and dipped into a work called Covenanting Worthies, which garnished
a table decorated with sea-shells. At half-past nine precisely he
retired to bed and unhesitating sleep.

Next morning he awoke to a changed world. The sky was grey and so
low that his outlook was bounded by a cabbage garden, while a surly
wind prophesied rain. It was chilly, too, and he had his breakfast
beside the kitchen fire. Mrs. Brockie could not spare a capital
letter for her surname on the signboard, but she exalted it in
her talk. He heard of a multitude of Brockies, ascendant, descendant,
and collateral, who seemed to be in a fair way to inherit the earth.
Dickson listened sympathetically, and lingered by the fire. He felt
stiff from yesterday's exercise, and the edge was off his spirit.

The start was not quite what he had pictured. His pack seemed
heavier, his boots tighter, and his pipe drew badly. The first
miles were all uphill, with a wind tingling his ears, and no colours
in the landscape but brown and grey. Suddenly he awoke to the fact
that he was dismal, and thrust the notion behind him. He expanded
his chest and drew in long draughts of air. He told himself that
this sharp weather was better than sunshine. He remembered that all
travellers in romances battled with mist and rain. Presently his
body recovered comfort and vigour, and his mind worked itself into
cheerfulness.

He overtook a party of tramps and fell into talk with them. He had
always had a fancy for the class, though he had never known anything
nearer it than city beggars. He pictured them as philosophic