CHAPTER XVI.
A HOLIDAY IN ARRAN.
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O keep my promise, I write this frae the rocky shores o' Arran. For your information, I may say that Arran is an island surrounded by raging billows, and is, I am told, even at low tide, entirely cut aff frae the adjacent country. Look where ye like, ye can see the ocean, The hills are the highest and barest I have ever seen, and they are whiles sae black and angry-like I am feart to look up at them. But the hooses are sadly oot-o'-keepin' wi' the hills for size. They mind me o' the wee thacket biggin' at the Water Raw in Govan where I stayed, lang syne, wi' my auntie for a change o' air when I wis gettin' better o' the chincough. In fact, there is some o' them no near sae big, for Mrs. Warnock telt me this vera day that when she wis puttin' on her claes i' the morning, she had to lift the sky-licht and put her head oot o' the window to straicht her benches. Nevertheless, they tell me it's a favourite place; but if ye want to learn mair aboot it, consult the guide-books—in fact, ye 'll get mair information in them than by traickin' ower the island, and ye save yersel' a heap o' trouble. Willie Warstle and I went yester-
