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An
engine
whistled
in
the
valley
,
a
signal
-
box
sprang
into
light
,
and
my
vision
passed
.
But
as
I
picked
my
way
down
the
hillside
in
the
growing
dusk
I
realized
that
all
memory
of
the
encircling
forest
had
not
gone
from
Woodilee
in
my
childhood
,
though
the
name
of
Melanudrigill
had
been
forgotten
.
I
could
hear
old
Jock
Dodds
,
who
had
been
keeper
on
Calidon
for
fifty
years
,
telling
tales
for
my
delectation
as
he
sat
and
smoked
on
the
big
stone
beside
the
smithy
.
He
would
speak
of
his
father
,
and
his
father
’
s
father
,
and
the
latter
had
been
a
great
hero
with
his
flintlock
gun
.
"
He
would
lie
in
the
moss
or
three
on
the
winter
mornin
’
s
,
and
him
an
auld
man
,
and
get
the
wild
swans
and
the
grey
geese
when
they
cam
’
ower
frae
Clyde
to
Aller
.
Ay
,
and
mony
’
s
the
deer
he
would
kill
.
"
And
when
I
pointed
out
that
there
were
no
deer
in
the
countryside
,
Jock
shook
his
head
and
said
that
in
his
grandfather
’
s
day
the
Black
Wood
was
not
all
destroyed
.
"
There
was
a
muckle
lump
on
Windyways
,
and
anither
this
side
o
’
Reiverslaw
.
"
But
if
I
asked
for
more
about
the
Wood
,
Jock
was
vague
.
Some
said
it
had
been
first
set
by
the
Romans
,
others
by
Auld
Michael
Scott
himself
.
.
.
.
"
A
grand
hidy
-
hole
for
beasts
and
an
unco
bit
for
warlocks
.
"
.
.
.
Its
downfall
had
begun
long
ago
in
the
Dear
Years
,
and
the
last
of
it
had
been
burnt
for
firewood
in
his
father
’
s
day
,
in
the
winter
of
the
Sixteen
Drifty
Days
.
I
remembered
,
too
,
that
there
had
been
places
still
sacrosanct
and
feared
.
To
Mary
Cross
,
a
shapeless
stone
in
a
field
of
bracken
,
no
one
would
go
in
the
spring
or
summer
gloaming
,
but
the
girls
decked
it
with
wild
flowers
at
high
noon
of
Midsummer
Day
There
was
a
stretch
of
Woodilee
burn
,
between
the
village
and
the
now
-
drained
Fennan
Moss
,
where
trout
,
it
was
believed
,
were
never
found
.
Above
all
,
right
in
the
heart
of
Reiverslaw
’
s
best
field
of
turnips
was
a
spring
,
which
we
children
knew
as
Katie
Thirsty
,
but
which
the
old
folk
called
the
Minister
’
s
Well
,
and
mentioned
always
with
a
shake
of
the
head
or
a
sigh
,
for
it
was
there
,
they
said
,
that
the
minister
of
Woodilee
had
left
the
earth
for
Fairyland
.
The
Reverend
David
Sempill
began
his
ministry
in
Woodilee
on
the
fifteenth
day
of
August
in
the
year
of
grace
sixteen
hundred
and
forty
-
four
.
He
was
no
stranger
to
the
glen
,
for
as
a
boy
he
had
spent
his
holidays
with
his
grandfather
,
who
was
the
miller
of
Roodfoot
.
In
that
year
when
the
horn
of
the
Kirk
was
exalted
the
voice
of
a
patron
mattered
less
;
Mr
.
Sempill
had
been
,
as
they
said
,
"
popularly
called
,
"
and
so
entered
upon
his
office
with
the
eager
interest
of
the
parish
which
had
chosen
him
.
A
year
before
he
had
been
licensed
by
the
presbytery
of
Edinburgh
;
he
was
ordained
in
Woodilee
in
the
present
year
on
the
last
Sabbath
of
June
,
and
"
preached
in
"
on
the
first
Sabbath
of
August
by
the
weighty
voice
of
Mungo
Muirhead
,
the
minister
of
Kirk
Aller
.
His
plenishing
-
-
chiefly
books
-
-
had
come
from
Edinburgh
on
eight
pack
-
horses
,
and
,
having
escaped
the
perils
of
Carnwath
Moss
,
was
now
set
out
in
an
upper
chamber
of
the
little
damp
manse
,
which
stood
between
the
kirk
and
Woodilee
burn
.
A
decent
widow
woman
,
Isobel
Veitch
by
name
,
had
been
found
to
keep
his
house
,
and
David
himself
,
now
that
all
was
ready
,
had
ridden
over
on
his
grey
cob
from
his
cousin
’
s
at
Newbiggin
and
taken
seisin
of
his
new
home
.
He
had
sung
as
he
came
in
sight
of
Woodilee
;
he
had
prayed
with
bowed
head
as
he
crossed
the
manse
threshold
;
but
as
he
sat
in
the
closet
which
he
named
his
"
study
,
"
and
saw
his
precious
books
on
the
shelf
,
and
the
table
before
him
on
which
great
works
would
be
written
,
and
outside
the
half
-
glazed
window
the
gooseberry
bushes
of
the
garden
and
the
silver
links
of
the
burn
,
he
had
almost
wept
with
pure
gratitude
and
content
.
His
first
hour
he
had
spent
exploring
his
property
.
The
manse
was
little
and
squat
,
and
gave
lodging
in
its
heather
-
thatched
roof
to
more
than
one
colony
of
bees
.
The
front
abutted
on
the
kirkton
road
,
save
for
a
narrow
strip
of
green
edged
with
smooth
white
stones
from
the
burn
.
The
back
looked
on
a
garden
,
where
stood
a
score
of
apple
trees
,
the
small
wild
fruit
of
which
was
scarcely
worth
the
gathering
.
There
was
also
a
square
of
green
for
bleaching
clothes
,
a
gean
tree
,
a
plot
of
gillyflowers
and
monkshood
,
and
another
of
precious
herbs
like
clary
,
penny
-
royal
,
and
marjoram
.
At
one
end
of
the
manse
stood
a
brewhouse
and
a
granary
or
girnel
,
for
the
storing
of
the
minister
’
s
stipend
meal
;
at
the
other
a
stable
for
two
beasts
,
a
byre
with
three
stalls
,
a
hen
-
house
of
mud
,
and
,
in
the
angle
of
the
dykes
of
the
kirk
loan
,
a
midden
among
nettles
.
Indoors
the
place
was
not
commodious
,
and
even
on
that
warm
August
day
a
chill
struck
upward
from
the
earthen
floors
.
The
low
-
ceiled
lobby
had
no
light
but
the
open
door
.
To
the
right
of
it
was
the
living
-
room
with
a
boarded
ceiling
,
a
wooden
floor
,
and
roughly
plastered
walls
,
where
the
minister
’
s
eight
-
day
clock
(
by
John
Atchison
,
Leith
,
1601
)
had
now
acclimatized
itself
.
To
the
left
lay
Isobel
’
s
kitchen
,
with
a
door
leading
to
the
brewhouse
,
and
Isobel
’
s
press
-
bed
at
the
back
of
it
,
and
a
small
dog
-
hole
of
a
cellar
.
The
upper
story
was
reached
by
a
wooden
staircase
as
steep
as
a
ladder
,
which
opened
direct
into
the
minister
’
s
bedroom
-
-
an
apartment
of
luxury
,
for
it
had
a
fireplace
.
One
door
led
from
it
to
the
solitary
guest
-
chamber
;
another
to
a
tiny
hearthless
room
,
which
was
his
study
or
closet
,
and
which
at
the
moment
ranked
in
his
mind
as
the
most
miraculous
of
his
possessions
.
David
ranged
around
like
a
boy
back
from
school
,
and
indeed
with
his
thick
,
sandy
hair
and
ruddy
countenance
and
slim
,
straight
back
he
seemed
scarcely
to
have
outgrown
the
schoolboy
.
He
spilt
the
browst
in
the
brewhouse
,
and
made
a
spectacle
of
himself
with
pease
-
meal
in
the
girnel
.
Isobel
watched
him
anxiously
out
of
doors
,
where
he
sampled
the
fruit
of
the
apple
trees
,
and
with
various
rejected
specimens
took
shots
at
a
starling
in
the
glebe
.
Then
,
in
response
to
his
shouts
,
she
brought
him
a
basin
of
water
and
he
washed
off
the
dust
of
his
morning
ride
.
The
August
sun
fell
warm
on
the
little
yard
;
the
sound
of
the
burn
in
the
glen
,
the
clack
of
the
kirkton
smithy
,
the
sheep
far
off
on
Windyways
,
the
bees
in
the
clove
gillyflowers
,
all
melted
into
the
soothing
hum
of
a
moorland
noontide
.
The
minister
smiled
as
he
scrubbed
his
cheeks
,
and
Isobel
’
s
little
old
puckered
apple
-
hued
face
smiled
back
.
"
Ay
,
sir
,
"
she
said
,
"
our
lines
is
fallen
intil
a
goodly
place
and
a
pleasant
habitation
.
The
Lord
be
thankit
.
"
And
as
he
cried
a
fervent
amen
and
tossed
the
towel
back
to
her
,
a
stir
at
the
front
door
betokened
his
first
visitors
.
These
were
no
less
than
three
in
number
,
neighbouring
ministers
who
had
ridden
over
on
their
garrons
to
bid
the
young
man
welcome
to
Woodilee
.
