me see--it's
like--a--pulling--a sheep out of a ditch--a--which they always do on the
Sabbath, you know, to a--get us on to Sydney."

Both McGibbet and his wife smiled at Picton's ingenuity, but straightway
put on the equine look again. "It might be so; but it was clean contrary
to their preenciples."

"I'll be hanged," whispered Picton, "if I offer more than the usual price,
which I heard at Louisburgh was one pound ten, to Sydney, and the fine
extra. I see what they are after."

There was an awkward pause in the negotiations. McGibbet scratched his
poll, and looked wistfully at his wife, but the kirk-frill was stiffened
up with the moral starch, as aforesaid.

Suddenly, Picton looked out of the window. "By Jove!" said he, "I think
the wind is changed! After all, we may get around in the 'Balaklava.'"

McGibbet looked somewhat anxiously out of the window also, and grunted out
a little more Gaelic to his love. The kirk-frill relented a trifle.

"Perhaps the gentlemen wad like a glass of milk after thae long walk? and
Robert" (which she pronounced Robbut), "a bit o' the corn-cake."

Upon which Robbut, with great alacrity, turned towards the bed-room, from
whence he brought forth a great white disk, that resembled the head of a
flour-barrel, but which proved to be a full-grown griddle cake of
corn-meal. This, with the pure milk, from the cleanest of scoured pans,
was acceptable enough after the long walk.

We had observed some beautiful streams, and blue glimpses of lakes on the
road to McGibbet's, and just beyond his house was a larger lake, several
miles in extent, with picturesque hills on either side, indented-with
coves, and studded with islands, sometimes stretching away to distant
slopes of green turf, and sometimes reflecting masses of precipitous rock,
crowned with the spiry tops of spruces and firs. Indeed, all the country
around, both meadow and upland, was very pleasing to the sight. A low
range of hills skirted the northern part of what seemed to be a spacious,
natural amphitheatre, while on the south side a diversity of highlands and
water added to the whole the charm of variety.

"You have a fine country about you, Mr. McGibbet," said I.

"Ay," he replied.

"And what is it called here?"

"We ca' it Get-Along!" said Robbut, with an intensely Scotch accent on the
"Get."

"And yonder beautiful lake--what is the name of that?" said I, in hopes of
taking refuge behind something more euphonious.