Big Game - A Story for Girls

Suddenly and unexpectedly the road took a quick swerve to the right, and

lo, a narrow glen leading apparently into the very heart of the

mountains.

Glenaire village at last! A little group of cottages, two whitewashed

kirks, a schoolhouse, a post office, a crowded emporium where everything

was to be purchased, from a bale of wincey to a red herring or a coil of

rope; a baker's shop, sending forth a warm and appetising odour; a

smithy, through the open door of which came out a glare of heat,

astonishingly welcome after the long, chill drive; bare-footed children

playing at tares by the wayside; an old man in a plaid, smoking a pipe

and turning on the new arrivals a kindly, weather-beaten face,--these

were the impressions left on Margot's mind as the horses put on an extra

spurt, knowing full well that rest and food were near at hand.

After the little group of houses there came another stretch of road for

perhaps three-quarters of a mile; a road which wound along between

moorland on the right, and on the left a straggling tarn, thickly

surrounded by rushes. The cone-shaped mountain at the head of the glen

towered ever nearer and nearer, until it seemed as if it must be

impossible to drive a hundred yards farther. Seen in the broad light of

a summer afternoon it was wonderfully beautiful; but it was a wild and

lonesome spot, and, given cloud or rain, its very grandeur and isolation

would increase the sense of gloom.

Margot had time to shiver at an imaginary picture before an exclamation

from Ron attracted her attention. There it stood! the little white inn,

nestled beneath the shelter of a rock, so near to the head of the glen

that the road came to an abrupt ending but a few yards farther on. A

door in the middle; two small-paned windows on either side; a row of

five windows overhead; to the right a garden stocked with vegetables and

a tangle of bright-coloured flowers; to the left the stable-yard. This

was the Nag's Head, and in the doorway stood the redoubtable Mrs McNab

herself, staring with steely eyes at the daring feminine intruder.

The one overpowering impression made by Mrs McNab was cleanliness! She

was so obtrusively, aggressively, immaculately clean, that the like of

her had never before dazzled the eyes of the benighted Southern

visitors. Her lilac print gown was glossy from the press of the iron;

the hands folded across the snowy apron were puffed and lined from

recent parboiling; her face shone like a mirror from a generous use of

good yellow soap. White stockings showed above her black felt slippers;

her hair--red streaked with grey--was plastered down on each side of her

head, and, for greater security, tied with a broad black ribbon. A

stiff white collar was fastened by a slab of pebble rimmed in silver,

which proudly imagined itself to be an ornamental brooch. There was not

a single feminine curve in her body; stiff and square she stood, like a

sentinel on guard, her lips pressed into a thin line; in her eyes a

smouldering flame.