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Chapter 3
Achildoftenreceivedmyticket,andIemergedonawhiteroadthatstraggledoverthebrownmoor.
Itwasagorgeousspringevening,witheveryhillshowingasclearasacutamethyst.Theairhadthequeer,rootysmellofbogs,butitwasasfreshasmid-ocean,andithadthestrangesteffectonmyspirits.Iactuallyfeltlight-hearted.Imighthavebeenaboyoutforaspringholidaytramp,insteadofamanofthirty-sevenverymuchwantedbythepolice.IfeltjustasIusedtofeelwhenIwasstartingforabigtrekonafrostymorningonthehighveld.Ifyoubelieveme,Iswungalongthatroadwhistling.Therewasnoplanofcampaigninmyhead,onlyjusttogoonandoninthisblessed,honest-smellinghillcountry,foreverymileputmeinbetterhumourwithmyself.
InaroadsideplantingIcutawalking-stickofhazel,andpresentlystruckoffthehighwayupaby-pathwhichfollowedtheglenofabrawlingstream.IreckonedthatIwasstillfaraheadofanypursuit,andforthatnightmightpleasemyself.ItwassomehourssinceIhadtastedfood,andIwasgettingveryhungrywhenIcametoaherd’scottagesetinanookbesideawaterfall.Abrown-facedwomanwasstandingbythedoor,andgreetedmewiththekindlyshynessofmoorlandplaces.WhenIaskedforanight’slodgingshesaidIwaswelcometothe“bedintheloft”,andverysoonshesetbeforemeaheartymealofhamandeggs,scones,andthicksweetmilk.
Atthedarkeninghermancameinfromthehills,aleangiant,whoinonestepcoveredasmuchgroundasthreepacesofordinarymortals.
