So I shut off all other thoughts and switched them on to the road-mending.

I thought of the little white cottage as my home, I recalled the years I had spent herding on Leithen Water, I made my mind dwell lovingly on sleep in a box-bed and a bottle of cheap whisky.

Still nothing appeared on that long white road.
Now and then a sheep wandered off the heather to stare at me.

A heron flopped down to a pool in the stream and started to fish, taking no more notice of me than if I had been a milestone.

On I went, trundling my loads of stone, with the heavy step of the professional.