He pointed with his stick towards the cathedral, so we retraced our steps and awaited his arrival with the key.  A key it certainly was, and a large one too, for it weighed 2 lbs. 4 ozs. and the bore that fitted the lock was three-quarters of an inch in diameter.  It was the biggest key we saw in all our long journey.  We listened to all the old man had to tell us about the cathedral, the building of which begun in the year 1230.  It measured 152 feet in length and about 24 feet in breadth, but was ruined in the time of Cromwell.  He showed us what he described as the Holy Water Pot, which was quite near the door and had some water in it, but why the water happened to be there the old man could not explain.  The front gable of the nave was nearly all standing, but that at the back, which at one time had contained a large window, was nearly all down.  The old font was in the wall about half-way down the cathedral; the vestry and chapter house were roofless.  The grave-stones dated from the year 1602, but that which covered the remains of the founder was of course very much older.  Beauly was formerly a burial-place of the ancient Scottish chieftains, and was still used as the burial-ground of the Mackenzies, the name reminding us of our friends at the “Huna Inn.”  Rewarding our guide and the bairn who had returned with him for their services, we walked quickly away, as we had still twelve miles to walk before reaching Inverness.

[Illustration:  BEAULY PRIORY.]

After crossing the bridge over the River Beauly we had the company for about a mile of a huge servant-girl, a fine-looking Scotch lassie, with whom we ventured to enter into conversation although we felt like dwarfs in her presence.  She told us she had never been in England, but her sister had been there in service, and had formed a bad opinion of the way the English spent their Sundays.  Some of them never went to church at all, while one young man her sister knew there actually whistled as he was going to church!  It was very different in Scotland, where, she said, all went to church and kept holy the Sabbath day.  She evidently thought it a dreadful offence to whistle on Sundays, and we were careful not to offend the susceptibilities of the Scots, and, we may safely say, our own, by whistling on the Lord’s day.  Whistling was, however, an accomplishment of which we were rather proud, as we considered ourselves experts, and beguiled many a weary mile’s march with quicksteps—­English, Scotch, Welsh, and Irish—­which we flattered ourselves sounded better amongst the hills of the Highlands of Scotland even than the sacred bagpipes of the most famous Scotch regiments.