CHAPTER X—­THE DROVERS

It took me a little effort to come abreast of my new companion; for though he walked with an ugly roll and no great appearance of speed, he could cover the around at a good rate when he wanted to.  Each looked at the other:  I with natural curiosity, he with a great appearance of distaste.  I have heard since that his heart was entirely set against me; he had seen me kneel to the ladies, and diagnosed me for a ‘gesterin’ eediot.’

‘So, ye’re for England, are ye?’ said he.

I told him yes.

‘Weel, there’s waur places, I believe,’ was his reply; and he relapsed into a silence which was not broken during a quarter of an hour of steady walking.

This interval brought us to the foot of a bare green valley, which wound upwards and backwards among the hills.  A little stream came down the midst and made a succession of clear pools; near by the lowest of which I was aware of a drove of shaggy cattle, and a man who seemed the very counterpart of Mr. Sim making a breakfast upon bread and cheese.  This second drover (whose name proved to be Candlish) rose on our approach.

‘Here’s a mannie that’s to gang through with us,’ said Sim.  ’It was the auld wife, Gilchrist, wanted it.’

‘Aweel, aweel,’ said the other; and presently, remembering his manners, and looking on me with a solemn grin, ‘A fine day!’ says he.

I agreed with him, and asked him how he did.

‘Brawly,’ was the reply; and without further civilities, the pair proceeded to get the cattle under way.  This, as well as almost all the herding, was the work of a pair of comely and intelligent dogs, directed by Sim or Candlish in little more than monosyllables.  Presently we were ascending the side of the mountain by a rude green track, whose presence I had not hitherto observed.  A continual sound of munching and the crying of a great quantity of moor birds accompanied our progress, which the deliberate pace and perennial appetite of the cattle rendered wearisomely slow.  In the midst my two conductors marched in a contented silence that I could not but admire.  The more I looked at them, the more I was impressed by their absurd resemblance to each other.  They were dressed in the same coarse homespun, carried similar sticks, were equally begrimed about the nose with snuff, and each wound in an identical plaid of what is called the shepherd’s tartan.  In a back view they might be described as indistinguishable; and even from the front they were much alike.  An incredible coincidence of humours augmented the impression.  Thrice and four times I attempted to pave the way for some exchange of thought, sentiment, or—­at the least of it—­human words.  An Ay or an Nhm was the sole return, and the topic died on the hill-side without echo.  I can never deny that I was chagrined; and when, after a little more walking, Sim turned towards me and offered me a ram’s horn of snuff, with the question ‘Do ye use it?’ I answered, with some animation, ’Faith, sir, I would use pepper to introduce a little cordiality.’  But even this sally failed to reach, or at least failed to soften, my companions.