"Gosh, but I'm seeing life," was his unregenerate conclusion.
Without sight or sound of a human being, they descended to the Laver, climbed again by the cart track, and passed the deserted West Lodge and inn to the village.

It was almost full dawn when the three stood in Mrs.Morran's kitchen.
"I've brought you two ladies, Auntie Phemie," said Dickson.
They made an odd group in that cheerful place, where the new-lit fire was crackling in the big grate--the wet undignified form of Dickson, unshaven of cheek and chin and disreputable in garb; the shrouded figure of Cousin Eugenie, who had sunk into the arm-chair and closed her eyes; the slim girl, into whose face the weather had whipped a glow like blossom; and the hostess, with her petticoats kilted and an ancient mutch on her head.
Mrs.Morran looked once at Saskia, and then did a thing which she had not done since her girlhood.

She curtseyed.
"I'm proud to see ye here, Mem.

Off wi' your things, and I'll get ye dry claes, Losh, ye're fair soppin' And your shoon! Ye maun change your feet....

Dickson! Awa' up to the loft, and dinna you stir till I give ye a cry.