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The next change carried him to a cottage near Pitlochry, whence he wrote that he was engaged in the composition of "crawlers." The tale has a limited circle; no Southern can appreciate all its merits, the thing is so absolutely and essentially Scots; especially the atmosphere. He said that it was "true for a hill parish in Scotland in old days, not true for mankind and the world."
From Pitlochry they went to Braemar, but that place proved to be no improvement. Mrs. Stevenson writes of it in her preface to Treasure Island: "It was a season of rain and chill weather that we spent in the cottage of the late Miss McGregor, though the townspeople called the cold, steady, penetrating drizzle 'just misting, In Scotland a fair day appears to mean fairly wet.
I cycled, and after a hard but thoroughly enjoyable spell of pedalling, eventually came to a standstill on the high road, a mile or two from the first lights of Pitlochry. I halted, not through fatigue, for I was almost as fresh as when I started, but because I was entranced with the delightful atmosphere, and wanted to draw in a few really deep draughts of it before turning into bed.
The incident I am about to relate took place the autumn before last. I was on a cycle tour in Scotland, and, making Pitlochry my temporary headquarters, rode over one evening to view the historic Pass of Killiecrankie. It was late when I arrived there, and the western sky was one great splash of crimson and gold such vivid colouring I had never seen before and never have seen since.
At a concert, for which she had herself sent them tickets, Lady Dunstable met Doris and her husband, the night before she departed. "In ten days we shall expect you at Pitlochry," she said, smiling, to Arthur Meadows, as she swept past them in the corridor. Then, pausing, she held out a perfunctory hand to Doris. "And we really can't persuade you to come too?"
"No, thank the good Lord," said Captain Neil, fervently, "but, Paula, I'll not forget." At Pitlochry they found their mail awaiting them. "A telegram for you, Barry," said Paula, who had assumed the duty of postman. They all paused in examining their mail to watch Barry open his wire. "Guess," he shouted, holding his telegram high. "Oh, glory, I know!" exclaimed Paula. "Extended leave. How much?"
All the same, the fleshpots of Pitlochry had by no means put his wife out of his mind. His incurable laziness and procrastination in small things had led him to let slip post after post; but that very morning, at any rate, he had really written her a decent letter. And he was beginning to be anxious to hear from her about the yachting plan.
Neither of us spoke till we reached home, I did not live here then, but in a house on the other side of Pitlochry, when my father, who was still as white as a sheet, took me aside and whispered, 'Whatever you do, Flora, don't breathe a word of what has happened to your mother, and never let her go along that road at night. It was the death bogle. I shall die within twelve months. And he did."
She seemed to be walking with Arthur through a world of beauty, hand in hand. How many hours to Pitlochry? She ran into the Kensington house, asking for railway guides, and peremptorily telling Jane to get down the small suitcase from the box-room at once. "'Barbarians, Philistines, Populace!"
Edinburgh was reached on May 31, 1881, and a few days later, accompanied by his mother, they went to Pitlochry, where they spent two months in Kinnaird Cottage, on the banks of a lovely river. This was a beautiful but inclement region, and cold winds and rain prevailed almost constantly. The two ladies never ventured out without umbrellas, and even then usually returned in a drenched condition.
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