Description
"Was she wrong? Is it wrong in the bird to escape from the snare of the fowler? Is it wrong in the hunted deer to flee to the screening thicket?" Mr Hadden was standing at the open door of the manse, waiting patiently, while his housekeeper adjusted his grey plaid on his shoulders in preparation for a long ride over the hills. His faithful Barbara was doing her part protesting, but she was doing it carefully and well. "Such a day as it is " said she. "Such a time of rain Indeed, sir, I canna think it right for you to go so far. Mightna ye just bide still at home till they come to the kirkyard?" But the minister shook his head. "I will need to go, Barbara. Think of poor Allison Bain on this sorrowful day." "Ay, poor Allie I'm wae for her this sorrowful day, as ye say. Greatly she'll need a good word spoken to her. But in a' the rain-and at your age-" "Ay I am a good ten years older than the man we are to lay in the grave. I might, as ye say, meet them at the kirkyard, but I must see that desolate bairn. And I think it may be fair." It was June, but it looked more like November, so low lay the clouds, and so close hung the mist over all the valley. For a week the sun had hidden his face, and either in downpour or in drizzle, the rain had fallen unceasingly, till the burn which ran down between the hills had overflowed its banks and spread itself in shallow pools over the level fields below. The roads would be "soft and deep," as Barbara said, and the way was long. But even as she spoke there was an opening in the clouds and the wind was "wearing round to the right airt," for the promise of a fair day, and it was early yet. "And rain or shine, I must go, Barbara, as ye see yourself. The powney is sure-footed. And my son Alexander is going with me, so there is nothing to fear."
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