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His
active
form
,
his
colour
,
his
tumbled
hair
,
spoke
of
the
boy
,
but
his
face
was
not
boyish
.
In
its
young
contours
there
were
already
thought
and
resolution
and
spiritual
fineness
,
and
there
was
a
steady
ardour
in
the
eyes
.
If
his
chin
was
the
fighter
’
s
,
his
mouth
was
the
comforter
’
s
.
Five
years
before
he
had
been
set
on
a
scholar
’
s
life
.
At
the
college
he
had
been
a
noted
Grecian
,
and
in
Robert
Bryson
’
s
bookshop
at
the
Sign
of
the
Prophet
Jonah
in
the
West
Bow
his
verses
,
Latin
and
English
,
had
been
praised
by
the
learned
.
When
religion
called
him
it
was
as
a
challenge
not
to
renounce
but
to
perfect
his
past
.
A
happy
preoccupation
with
his
dream
made
him
blind
to
the
harshness
and
jealousies
which
beset
the
Kirk
,
and
he
saw
only
its
shining
mission
.
The
beauty
which
was
to
be
found
in
letters
seemed
in
very
truth
a
part
of
that
profounder
beauty
which
embraced
all
earth
and
Heaven
in
the
revelation
of
God
.
He
had
not
ceased
to
be
the
humanist
in
becoming
the
evangelist
.
Some
had
looked
askance
at
him
as
too
full
of
carnal
learning
for
the
sacred
office
,
some
as
too
cheerful
for
a
shepherd
of
souls
in
a
perishing
world
.
But
his
critics
as
yet
were
few
,
for
David
carried
with
him
a
light
and
warmth
which
it
was
hard
for
the
sourest
to
resist
.
"
He
is
a
gracious
youth
,
"
an
old
minister
had
said
at
his
ordination
.
"
May
the
Lord
deal
tenderly
with
him
!
"
David
’
s
eyes
from
his
perch
on
the
hilltop
rested
first
on
the
kirkton
of
Woodilee
.
He
saw
the
manse
among
its
trees
,
and
the
church
with
its
thatched
roof
-
-
the
roof
had
been
lead
till
Morton
the
Regent
stripped
it
and
melted
it
down
for
bullets
.
He
saw
the
little
beehive
cottages
in
the
clachan
with
the
taller
gable
-
end
of
Lucky
Weir
’
s
ale
-
house
.
He
saw
the
adjoining
farm
-
towns
-
-
the
Mains
,
Chasehope
,
Nether
Windyways
,
Crossbasket
,
the
two
Fennans
,
each
with
its
patches
of
crops
lifted
well
above
the
bogs
of
the
glen
.
He
saw
the
mill
of
Woodilee
at
present
idle
by
the
burn
,
and
hay
being
cut
on
the
side
of
Windyways
hill
,
and
what
looked
like
the
clipping
of
the
miller
’
s
sheep
.
In
the
bright
evening
the
scene
was
all
of
peace
and
pastoral
,
and
David
’
s
heart
kindled
.
There
dwelled
his
people
,
the
little
flock
whom
God
had
appointed
him
to
feed
.
His
heart
yearned
over
them
,
and
in
a
sudden
glow
of
tenderness
he
felt
that
this
sunset
prospect
of
his
parish
was
a
new
and
more
solemn
ordination
.
It
was
long
before
he
lifted
his
eyes
beyond
the
glen
to
the
great
encircling
amphitheatre
of
the
hills
.
At
first
he
gazed
at
them
in
an
abstraction
,
till
childish
memories
came
back
to
him
and
he
began
to
name
the
summits
to
himself
one
by
one
.
There
was
the
bald
top
of
the
Lammerlaw
,
and
the
peak
of
the
Green
Dod
,
and
far
beyond
the
long
line
of
the
great
Herstane
Craig
,
which
in
that
childhood
had
been
the
synonym
for
untravelled
mystery
.
He
saw
the
green
cleft
in
the
hills
where
the
Aller
came
down
from
its
distant
wells
,
and
the
darker
glen
of
the
Rood
where
bent
was
exchanged
for
rock
and
heather
.
He
saw
the
very
patches
of
meadow
by
Roodside
which
he
had
made
his
boyish
playground
.
Such
a
hilltop
prospect
he
had
never
before
known
,
for
a
child
lives
in
a
magnified
world
,
and
finds
immensity
in
short
vistas
.
One
thing
struck
hard
on
his
mind
.
Never
before
had
he
realized
the
extent
of
the
forest
ground
.
He
remembered
travelling
to
Roodfoot
through
trees
,
and
all
up
the
water
of
Rood
there
had
been
a
drift
of
scrub
.
But
it
was
the
meadows
and
the
open
spaces
that
had
been
his
kingdom
,
and
his
recollection
was
of
a
bare
sunny
land
where
whaup
and
peewit
cried
and
the
burns
fell
headlong
from
windy
moors
.
But
now
,
as
he
gazed
,
he
realized
that
the
countryside
was
mainly
forest
.
Everywhere
,
muffling
the
lower
glen
of
the
Woodilee
burn
and
the
immediate
vale
of
the
Aller
,
and
climbing
far
up
the
hillside
,
was
the
gloom
of
trees
.
In
the
Rood
glen
there
was
darkness
only
at
the
foot
,
for
higher
up
the
woods
thinned
into
scrub
of
oak
and
hazel
,
with
the
knees
of
the
uplands
showing
through
it
.
The
sight
powerfully
impressed
his
fancy
.
Woodilee
was
a
mere
clearing
in
a
forest
.
This
was
the
Silva
Caledonis
of
which
old
writers
spoke
,
the
wood
which
once
covered
all
the
land
and
in
whose
glades
King
Arthur
had
dwelt
.
He
remembered
doggerel
Latin
of
Merlin
the
Bard
and
strange
sayings
of
True
Thomas
-
-
old
wives
’
tales
which
concerned
this
sanctuary
.
He
had
grown
up
beside
it
and
had
not
known
of
it
,
and
now
he
had
come
back
to
a
revelation
.
Silva
Caledonis
!
Up
the
Rood
water
lay
the
house
of
Calidon
.
Were
the
names
perhaps
the
same
?
The
young
man
’
s
fancy
was
quick
to
kindle
,
and
he
looked
with
new
eyes
at
the
great
cup
of
green
,
broken
only
at
one
spot
by
Aller
side
with
the
flash
of
water
.
At
first
in
the
soft
evening
light
it
had
worn
a
gracious
and
homely
air
,
even
the
darkness
of
the
pines
seemed
luminous
,
and
the
feathery
top
of
a
patch
of
birches
was
like
the
smoke
of
household
fires
.
.
.
.
But
as
the
sun
sank
behind
the
Rood
hills
a
change
seemed
to
come
over
the
scene
.
The
shade
became
gloom
,
a
hostile
,
impenetrable
darkness
.
The
birches
were
still
like
smoke
,
but
a
turbid
smoke
from
some
unhallowed
altar
.
The
distant
shallows
of
Aller
caught
a
ray
of
the
dying
sun
and
turned
to
blood
.
.
.
.
The
minister
shivered
and
then
laughed
at
himself
for
his
folly
.
The
evening
deepened
in
the
hollows
,
though
the
hilltops
were
still
faintly
bright
.
The
great
wood
seemed
now
to
be
a
moving
thing
,
a
flood
which
lapped
and
surged
and
might
at
any
moment
overflow
the
sandspit
which
was
Woodilee
.
Again
the
minister
laughed
at
himself
,
but
without
conviction
.
It
must
be
an
eerie
life
under
the
shadow
of
that
ancient
formless
thing
.
Woodilee
could
not
be
quite
as
other
parishes
,
or
its
folk
like
other
folk
.
The
Wood
,
this
hoary
Wood
of
Caledon
,
must
dominate
their
thoughts
and
form
their
characters
.
.
.
.
Had
not
some
one
called
it
the
Black
Wood
?
-
-
Yes
,
they
had
spoken
of
it
that
afternoon
.
Mr
.
Muirhead
had
admitted
that
it
must
be
queer
to
live
so
near
it
,
and
Mr
.
Fordyce
had
shaken
his
head
solemnly
and
hinted
at
tales
that
would
be
told
if
the
trees
could
speak
.
Did
the
Devil
use
the
place
as
a
stronghold
and
seduce
the
foolish
into
its
shadows
?
Could
it
be
said
of
a
lost
soul
,
Itur
in
antiquam
silvam
?
