ut always they knelt meekly in front of the Gray
Dragon, as if he beat them to their knees. They were not so
accommodating to the hired car which followed. Something was the matter
with its internal economy. It grunted and groaned and emitted
evil-smelling fumes because it couldn't digest its petrol. Basil named
the creature Old Blunderbore, but said he would not dare to call it so
before its chauffeur-owner, who glared behind his goggles when it was
blamed for anything.

Gatehouse of Fleet looked, according to Basil, like places in Holland,
because sailing ships were apparently moving through fields, and masts
mixing themselves up with tree branches. Suddenly we had plunged into
Scott country, sandwiched in with Crockett, for Gatehouse is the
"Kippletingan" of "Guy Mannering." There was a sweet, sad smell of the
sea; and I heard Mrs. West ask Sir S. if it didn't remind him of "that
last night on the ship, when we told each other things?"

About this time, I think it must have been, we began to see so many old
castles dotted about the landscape that at last we almost ceased to
notice them. It must have been nice living in one of those box-like
fortress castles in old days, when all your friends had them too; so
jolly and self-contained. And, as a matter of course, when you built one
you had a few dungeons put in, just as one has plenty of bathrooms now
in a big house. If you were of a dramatic turn of mind, you placed your
dungeons mostly under your dining-hall, so you could hear the starving
prisoners groan while you feasted comfortably. We passed several dear
little towns, too, which I should like to have for toys, to keep in
boxes when not playing with them. On most of the houses were charming
chimney-pots of different colours, exactly like immense chessmen, set
out ready for a game. All the men in these towns looked almost ill with
intelligence. Most of the girls were very pretty, with little coquettish
features contradicted by saintly expressions, and even the dogs appeared
well educated and intellectual.

At Newton-Stewart a change came over the houses, but not the people or
animals. I felt that the smallest child would know more about books than
I did; and there was hardly a nondescript face to be seen. All could be
classified in historic Scottish types. But the whitewashed, thatched
cottages in the suburbs would have looked Irish if they had not been too
preternaturally clean. In the streets of Newton-Stewart