Synopsis

By reason of a breakneck ride through the Pentlands, I entered the dining-room at Stair very late one morning to find Huey MacGrath in a state of deepest gloom waiting to serve my breakfast. "Good morning, Huey," I said, opening The Glasgow Sentinel which had come by the post. "Good morning, my lord," he returned, in a grudging tone. "It's a fine morning," said I. "Ye think sae!" with a show of great surprise. "Why, man!" I cried, "can not ye see for yourself?" "We've the spring rains to come yet." "They're by these ten days," I answered. "Nae, nae," he said quietly. "That was jest the equinoctial, I'm thinking." "The equinoctial comes in March, man!" I observed with some surprise. "Tammas was telling me yesterday that the roads to London were fair imable." "Nonsense," said I. "The summer's here, Huey." "There's a chill at the gloamin', yet. Nae, nae," he went on earnestly, "simmer's far awa',—I've seen snaw's late's this!" "Ye've had wonderful eyesight," I laughed, seeing the point toward which this talk was aimed. "And did ye hear nothing of tidal waves, Huey?" I asked; "with imable roads to London, and snow in June, you've surely heard of some disa...