Big Game - A Story for Girls

Inside the inn a mingling of odours greeted the nostrils. Furniture

polish, soft soap, various whiffs from the bar, which by good fortune

opened into the stable-yard, and was distinct from the house itself; a

sweet, heavy odour of milk from the dairy; a smell of musk from the

plants ranged along the window-sills. In the dining-room the tablecloth

was laid, with a large home-cured ham in the place of honour. The floor

was covered with oilcloth; the furniture was covered with horsehair. On

the mantelpiece stood two large specimens of granite, and a last year's

almanac. Red rep curtains were draped across the window, so as to

conceal all the view except a glimpse of the road. The walls were hung

with a fearsome paper, in which bouquets of deep blue flowers were

grouped on a background of lozenges of an orange hue. Over the

mantelpiece hung a coloured print of Queen Victoria; over the sideboard

a print entitled "Deerstalking," representing two Highlanders in plaids

and bonnets standing over the prostrate form of a "monarch of the

waste." In the corner by the window were massed together quite an

imposing collection of "burial cards," memorialising McNab connections

dead and gone, all framed to match in black bands with silver beadings.

Anything less homelike and inviting can hardly be imagined to welcome

tired travellers at the end of a long and chilly journey. Margot

shivered as she crossed the portals, and rubbed her hands together in

disconsolate fashion, even her cheery optimism failing at the sight.

"It's so--slippery!" was the mental comment. "What an appalling room

to sit in! What must it be like in bad weather! And no fire! We'd die

of cold if we sat here all the evening. If the worst comes to the

worst, I'll hug my hot bottle. What a mercy I remembered to bring it!"

Mrs McNab was speaking in hard, aloof accents, after the manner of one

who, having been interrupted in her work by unwelcome intruders, is

still determined to perform her duty toward them, as a matter of

distasteful necessity. Shades of the obsequious landladies of the

South! The tired guests quailed before the severity of this Northern

welcome.

"If it's tea you're wanting, the kettle's on the hob. It will be

waiting for you before ye're ready for it. Ye'll be wanting a wash, I'm

thinking."

It was a statement, not a question, and, in response to it, brother and

sister meekly ascended the staircase to the rooms allotted to their use

in the front of the house--two whitewashed cribs, provided with nothing

which was not absolutely necessary; a small, white-covered bed; a wooden

chest of drawers, made to do duty for a dressing-table also, by the

presence of a small mirror set fair and square in the middle of a

coarse-grained mat; a few pegs on the wall, a deal washstand, and a

couple of chairs--that was all; but everything was exquisitely clean and

orderly, and what did one want with luxurious upholstery when a peep

through the open windows revealed a view which sent the blood racing

through the veins in very ecstasy of delight? Purple mountains and a

blue sky; golden yellow of gorse--a silver sheet of water, reflecting

the dark fringe of the pines--it was wonderfully, incredibly beautiful

in the clear afternoon light.