CHAPTER XXVI
LIKE THE SCENERY OF A FAIRY DREAM

Ir was just the evening for lying around a cosy camp-
fire.

The month of July was drawing nigh its close, and
the “Rover” was bivouacked high up in one of the
wildest passes of the Grampian Mountains. There
was hardly a breath of air to-night to torment and
tease the fire, to twist its smoke into circles, and whirl
it hither and thither, or to catch up the sparks and
carry them like glittering snowflakes far over the
birchen woods that bordered the rugged stream.

What a change from the scenery of Merrie England!

“A change for the better!” says bold Douglas
Stuart, and Carleton Radcliffe cannot help agreeing
with him. Compared with the natural beauties every-
where around them, England is after all but a half-
wild garden.

As the two boys—nay, but I should call them young
men now, both are so hard and hardy—lie on their
rugs with their feet towards the fire, and noble Lady
Bute between them, while the last rays of the sunset
. are disappearing from the lofty mountain-tops, and
night has settled long since on the straths and glens,
they talk quietly of the many strange scenes they have

passed through, not unattended sometimes with danger.
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