My mother besought me to leave her. "What," she would say, "has young
blood to do with this bickering of kirks and old wives' lamentations?
You have to learn and see and do, Andrew. And it's time you were
beginning." But I would not listen to her, till by the mercy of God we
got my father safely forth of Scotland, and heard that he was dwelling
snugly at Leyden in as great patience as his nature allowed. Thereupon
I bethought me of my neglected colleging, and, leaving my books and
plenishing to come by the Lanark carrier, set out on foot for
Edinburgh.
The distance is only a day's walk for an active man, but I started
late, and purposed to sleep the night at a cousin's house by
Kirknewton. Often in bright summer days I had travelled the road, when
the moors lay yellow in the sun and larks made a cheerful chorus. In
such weather it is a pleasant road, with long prospects to cheer the
traveller, and kindly ale-houses to rest his legs in. But that day it
rained as if the floodgates of heaven had opened. When I crossed Clyde
by the bridge at Hyndford the water was swirling up to the key-stone.
The ways were a foot deep in mire, and about Carnwath the bog had
overflowed and the whole neighbourhood swam in a loch.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25