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His
eyes
had
been
so
engaged
with
the
foreground
that
he
had
not
looked
towards
Melanudrigill
.
Now
he
saw
it
,
dark
and
massy
,
the
only
opaque
thing
in
a
translucent
world
.
But
there
was
nothing
oppressive
in
its
shadows
,
for
oppression
could
not
exist
in
a
scene
so
full
of
air
and
light
and
song
.
For
a
moment
he
had
a
mind
to
go
boldly
into
its
coverts
by
way
of
Reiverslaw
and
make
for
the
lower
course
of
the
Woodilee
burn
.
But
the
sight
of
the
wild
wood
in
the
Rood
glen
detained
him
.
It
was
a
day
not
for
the
pines
,
but
for
the
hazels
and
birches
,
where
in
open
glades
a
man
would
have
always
a
view
of
the
hills
and
the
sky
.
So
he
slanted
to
his
right
through
the
open
coppice
,
meaning
to
reach
the
valley
floor
near
the
foot
of
the
path
which
led
to
the
Greenshiel
.
The
coppice
was
thicker
than
he
had
imagined
.
This
was
no
hillside
scrub
,
but
a
forest
,
a
greenwood
,
with
its
own
glades
and
hollows
,
its
own
miniature
glens
and
streams
.
He
was
in
the
midst
of
small
birds
who
made
a
cheerful
twittering
from
the
greening
boughs
,
cushats
too
were
busy
,
and
the
thickets
were
full
of
friendly
beasts
.
He
saw
the
russet
back
of
a
deer
as
it
broke
cover
,
and
the
tawny
streak
of
a
hill
-
fox
,
and
there
was
a
perpetual
scurrying
of
rabbits
.
Above
all
there
was
a
glory
of
primroses
.
The
pale
blossoms
starred
the
glades
and
the
sides
of
the
dells
,
clung
to
tree
-
roots
,
and
climbed
into
crannies
of
the
grey
whinstone
rock
.
So
thick
they
were
,
that
their
paleness
became
golden
,
the
first
strong
colour
he
had
seen
that
day
.
David
was
young
and
his
heart
was
light
,
so
he
gathered
a
great
clump
of
blooms
for
his
manse
table
,
and
set
a
bouquet
in
his
coat
and
another
in
his
bonnet
.
These
latter
would
have
to
go
before
he
reached
the
highway
,
or
the
parish
would
think
that
its
minister
had
gone
daft
.
But
here
in
the
secret
greenwood
he
could
forget
decorum
and
bedeck
himself
like
a
child
.
Presently
he
had
forgotten
the
route
he
had
planned
.
He
found
himself
in
a
shallow
glade
which
ran
to
the
left
and
away
from
the
Greenshiel
,
and
down
which
leaped
a
burn
so
entrancing
in
its
madcap
grace
that
he
could
not
choose
but
follow
it
.
Memory
returned
to
him
;
this
must
be
the
burn
which
descended
near
the
mill
at
Roodfoot
;
he
knew
well
its
lower
course
,
for
he
had
often
guddled
trout
in
its
pools
,
but
he
had
never
explored
its
upper
waters
.
Now
he
felt
the
excitement
of
a
discoverer
.
.
.
.
The
ravine
narrowed
to
a
cleft
where
the
stream
fell
in
a
white
spout
into
a
cauldron
.
David
made
the
passage
by
slithering
down
the
adjacent
rocks
and
emerged
wet
to
the
knees
.
He
was
as
amused
as
a
boy
playing
truant
from
school
,
and
when
he
found
a
water
-
ouzel
’
s
nest
in
the
notch
of
a
tree
-
root
he
felt
that
he
had
profit
of
his
truancy
.
There
came
a
more
level
stretch
,
which
was
a
glory
of
primroses
and
wood
-
anemones
,
then
another
linn
,
and
then
a
cup
of
turf
rimmed
with
hazels
,
where
the
water
twined
in
placid
shallows
.
.
.
.
He
looked
up
and
saw
on
the
opposite
bank
a
regiment
of
dark
pines
.
He
had
come
to
the
edge
of
Melanudrigill
.
The
trees
rose
like
a
cloud
above
him
,
and
after
the
open
coppice
of
birch
and
hazel
he
seemed
to
be
looking
into
deep
water
where
things
were
seen
darkly
as
through
a
dull
glass
.
There
were
glades
which
ran
into
shadows
,
and
fantastic
rocks
,
and
mounds
of
dead
bracken
which
looked
like
tombs
.
Yet
the
place
fascinated
him
.
It
,
too
,
was
under
the
spell
of
Spring
,
and
he
wondered
how
Spring
walked
in
its
recesses
.
He
leapt
the
stream
and
scrambled
up
the
bank
with
an
odd
feeling
of
expectation
.
He
was
called
to
adventure
on
this
day
of
days
.
The
place
was
not
dark
,
but
dim
and
very
green
.
The
ancient
pines
grew
more
sparsely
than
he
had
imagined
,
and
beneath
them
were
masses
of
sprouting
ferns
-
-
primroses
too
,
and
violets
,
which
he
had
not
found
among
the
hazels
.
A
scent
of
rooty
dampness
was
about
,
of
fresh
-
turned
earth
,
and
welling
fountains
.
In
every
tree
-
root
wood
-
sorrel
clustered
.
But
there
were
no
small
birds
,
only
large
things
like
cushats
and
hawks
,
which
made
a
movement
in
the
high
branches
.
A
little
farther
and
he
was
in
a
glade
,
far
more
of
a
glade
than
the
clearings
in
the
hazels
,
for
it
was
sharply
defined
by
the
walls
of
shade
.
He
stood
and
gazed
,
stuck
silent
by
its
beauty
.
Here
in
truth
was
a
dancing
-
floor
for
wood
nymphs
,
a
playground
for
the
Good
Folk
.
It
seemed
strange
that
the
place
should
be
untenanted
.
.
.
.
There
was
a
rustling
in
the
covert
,
and
his
heart
beat
.
He
was
no
longer
the
adventurous
boy
,
but
a
young
man
with
a
fancy
fed
by
knowledge
.
He
felt
that
the
glade
was
aware
and
not
empty
.
Light
feet
had
lately
brushed
its
sward
.
.
.
.
There
was
a
rustling
again
,
and
a
gleam
of
colour
.
He
stood
poised
like
a
runner
,
his
blood
throbbing
in
a
sudden
rapture
.
There
was
the
gleam
again
and
the
rustle
.
He
thought
that
at
the
far
end
of
the
glade
behind
the
red
bracken
he
saw
a
figure
.
In
two
steps
he
was
certain
.
A
green
gown
fluttered
,
and
at
his
third
step
broke
cover
.
He
saw
the
form
of
a
girl
-
-
nymph
,
fairy
,
or
mortal
,
he
knew
not
which
.
He
was
no
more
the
minister
of
Woodilee
,
but
eternal
wandering
youth
,
and
he
gave
chase
.
