He had even a book or two, caught up from his kinsman's small collection.

He had been here fourteen days.
At first they were days and nights of vastly needed rest.

Bitter had been the fatigue, privation, wandering, immediately after Culloden! Now he was rested.
He was by nature sanguine.

When the sun had irretrievably blackened and gone out he might be expected at least to attempt to gather materials and ignite another.

He was capable of whistling down the wind those long hopes of fame and fortune that had hung around the Stewart star.