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CHAPTER XIII.
DROWNING THEM LIKE RATS.
"Plough of Nature! Hand of God!
Fallow deep the hills eternal!
Bless for these the mountain sod
With full fruit and pasture vernal!
Somewhere in the by-and-by,
Sounds of distant life are humming;
They are nearing, though not nigh,
And the day of homes is coming."
High in the far-off glens rose thin blue curls from the homesteads;
Softly the low of the herds, and the pipe of the outgoing herdsman,
Fled to her ear on the water, and melted her heart into weeping."
As Travers and Gwyneth turned along the hill-side, who should the unconventional couple meet but Hilda and Maud, riding with Larry O'Lochlan. Both parties were moving too rapidly for it to be marked that they did not pull up. Neither desired to do so. The men doffed their hats gaily. The women looked at their horses' heads demurely.
"Who is that young 'Duchess of Devonshire' with the buttercups round her hat?" asked Larry of Hilda, when they were well out of ear-shot.
"A young person from the village that my brother has picked up. Not very considerate of him. I believe she's respectable enough."
