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Basil said it was like a Surrey set down by the sea, so I suppose Surrey has big trees and flowery hedges and rolling downs, purple with heather. But surely no heather can be as purple as Scottish heather? The sands of Girvan seemed to float like a golden scarf on the blue sea, and the town looked a romantic, mediæval place till we shot into it.
The sea was bitten all over with white; little ships, tacking up and down the Firth, lay over at different angles in the wind. On Shanter they were ploughing lea; a cart foal, all in a field by himself, capered and whinnied as if the spring were in him. The road from Turnberry to Girvan lies along the shore, among sandhills and by wildernesses of tumbled bent.
Then we were disillusioned as to its age; but Ailsa Craig was noble in the distance, and a few members of the gull colony had flapped over to give town dwellers and visitors a sad serenade. "Gulls, golfers, and geologists all love Girvan," Basil said. "Have you put that down in your notebook?" I inquired. "Not in those words.
A draft joined us a few days after our return with Lieut. Girvan and our Quartermaster, Lieut. Clark. Plainly the days of sitting on the banks of the Canal and waiting till Turkey chose to attack us were gone for ever. The whole force was pushing slowly but surely to the east, and it was high time for us to help them push.
A large number went together, and formed a prosperous and happy colony, gratefully sending back thanks to their benefactor. They would have starved, or, what is more probable, gone into crime in London; now they were contented and satisfied in their new home. When the inhabitants of Girvan, Scotland, were in distress, she advanced a large sum to take all the needy families to Australia.
A.H. Malcolm died of wounds, Lieut.-Colonel J.B. Neilson, D.S.O., Captain L.H. Watson, Sec.-Lieut. E.T. Williamson, Sec.-Lieut. C.M. Sanderson, Lieut. J. Girvan, and Lieut. G.S. Barr were wounded, and Captain R.M. Miller, Lieut. J. M'Kie were captured. In other ranks 13 were killed, 162 wounded.
I do not think her name is Miss Girvan, which other people call her. I think nobody know their names. "One night I am asleep at Dawson. He wake me up. He says, 'Get the dogs ready; we start. No more do I ask questions, so I get the dogs ready and we start. We go down the Yukon. It is night-time, it is November, and it is very cold sixty-five below. She is soft. He is soft. The cold bites.
There is one objection to this device: for, as the post stands in the middle of the fairway, any one precipitately issuing from the cottage must run his chance of a broken head. So far as I am aware, it is peculiar to the little corner of country about Girvan. And that corner is noticeable for more reasons: it is certainly one of the most characteristic districts in Scotland.
At first I think maybe he is her husband. But he is too young. Also, they make two beds at night. He is maybe twenty years old. His eyes blue, his hair yellow, he has a little mustache which is yellow. His name is John Jones. Maybe he is her brother. I do not know. I ask questions no more. Only I think his name not John Jones. Other people call him Mr. Girvan. I do not think that is his name.
Then he said suddenly, "I suppose that if you don't go about with Bob Girvan there's some boy who does take you out. Isn't there?" She whispered, "No." But he had gone on in a strange, insistent tone, "But you're getting-quite a big girl now. Seventeen, aren't you, Marion? There'll be somebody soon." At that, paralysis fell on her.
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