doing ourselves--past the lonely copse
at the Rowantree, by the hillside track from Straiton, up the little
runlet banks where the heather was blushing purple, they wended their
ways, all setting towards one place in the hollow. There already was
gathered a black cloud of folk under the rickle of stones that runs
slidingly down from the steep brow of Craigfacie.

As we drew nearer we could see the notable Session Stone, a broad flat
stone overhanging the little pourie burn that tinkles and lingers among
the slaty rocks, now shining bone-white in the glare of the autumn sun.
I never saw a fairer place, for the heights about are good for sheep,
and all the other hills distant and withdrawn. It has not, indeed, the
eye-taking glorious beauty of the glen of Trool, but nevertheless it
looked a very Sabbath land of benediction and peace that day of the
great Societies' Meeting.

Upon the Session Stone the elders were already greeting one another,
mostly white-headed men with dinted and furrowed faces, bowed and broken
by long sojourning among the moss-hags and the caves.

When we came to the place we found the folk gathering for prayer, before
the conference of the chosen delegates of the societies. The women sat
on plaids that had been folded for comfort. Opposite the Session Stone
was a wide heathery amphitheatre, where, as on tiers of seats, rows of
men and women could sit and listen to the preachers. The burnie's voice
filled up the breaks in the speech, as it ran small and black with the
drought, under the hollow of the bank. For, as is usual upon our moors,
the rain and storm of the night had not reached this side of the hill.

I sat down on a lichened stone and looked at the grave, well-armed men
who gathered fast about the Session Stone, and on the delegates' side of
the water. It was a fitting place for such a gathering, for only from
the lonely brown hills above could the little cup of Conventicle be
seen, nestling in the lap of the hill. And on all the moor tops that
looked every way, couching torpid and drowsed in the hot sun, were to be
seen the sentinels--pacing the heather like watchmen going round and
telling the towers of Zion, the sun flashing on their pikes and musket
barrels as they turned sharply, like men well-disciplined.

The only opening was to the south-west, but even there nothing but the
distant hills of Colmonell looked in, blue and serene. Down in the
hollow there was a glint of melancholy L