With the dead wood and some heather and pieces of turf we returned laden and wet through to our dug-out, where we managed to get our fire burning again and to clear away some of the stones that had fallen upon it.  Still there was no sleep for us that night, which was the most miserable one almost that we ever experienced.

But just fancy the contrast!  In the dead of night, in a desolate Highland glen, scaling a stone fence in a pitiless storm of wind and rain, and climbing up a dead tree to break off a few branches to serve as fuel for a most obstinate fire—­such was the reality; and then picture, instead of this, sitting before a good fire in a comfortable inn, with a good supper, and snug apartments with every accommodation—­these had been our fond anticipations for the week-end!  We certainly had a good supply of wet fuel, and perhaps burned something else we ought not to have done:  but we were really prisoners for the night.  The merciless wind and rain raged throughout, and we had to stick to our novel apartment and breathe until daylight the awful smoke from the fire we were compelled to keep alight.  Yet our spirits were not entirely damped, for we found ourselves in the morning, and often during the night, singing the refrain of an old song: 

  We’ll stand the storm, it won’t be long;
    We’ll anchor by and by.

Just occasionally the gloom thickened when we ventured to think of details, among which came uppermost the great question, “Where and when shall we get our breakfast?”

(Distance walked, including that to Dalmally, forty miles.)

Sunday, October 1st.

Soon after daylight appeared the rain moderated, and so did the wind, which now seemed to have exhausted itself.  Our sleep, as may easily be imagined, had been of a very precarious and fitful character; still the hut had rendered substantial service in sheltering us from the fury of the storm.  Soon after leaving our sorry shelter we saw a white house standing near the foot of a hill beyond the moor, and to this we resolved to go, even though it was a long distance away, as it was now imperative that we should obtain food.  A knock at the door, more than once repeated—­for it was still very early—­at last roused the mistress of the house, who opened the door and with kindly sympathy listened to our tale of woe.  She at once lit the fire, while the other members of the family were still asleep in the room, and found us some soap and water, our hands and faces being as black as smoke and burnt sticks could make them.  After a good wash we felt much better and refreshed, although still very sleepy.  She then provided us with some hot milk and oatcake, and something we had never tasted before, which she called “seath.”  It proved to be a compound of flour and potatoes, and after our long fast it tasted uncommonly good.  Altogether we had an enormous breakfast, the good wife waiting upon us meanwhile in what we supposed was the costume common to the Highlands—­in other words, minus her gown, shoes, and stockings.  We rewarded her handsomely and thanked her profusely as she directed us the nearest way to Dalmally.