The one great joy of the year,
although some years went without it altogether, was the summer visit paid
to the shores of the Moray Firth. My story is merely a record of some of
the impressions left on myself by such a visit, although the boy is
certainly not a portrait of myself; and if it has no result, no end,
reaching beyond childhood into what is commonly called life, I presume it
is not of a peculiar or solitary character in that respect; for surely
many that we count finished stories--life-histories--must look very
different to the angels; and if they haven't to be written over again, at
least they have to be carried on a few aeons further.
"A CHILD'S HOLIDAY.
"Before the door of a substantial farm-house in the north of Scotland,
stands a vehicle of somewhat singular construction. When analysed,
however, its composition proves to be simple enough. It is a common
agricultural cart, over which, by means of a few iron rods bent across, a
semi-cylindrical covering of white canvas has been stretched. It is thus
transformed from a hay or harvest cart into a family carriage, of
comfortable dimensions, though somewhat slow of progress.
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