This rail and
gate had wanted a little repair for several weeks, the Laird having
promised to give it that repair; and he was well able so to have done,
having at one time of his life worked several months with the village
carpenter. But the good man had not fulfilled his promise, and it had
only been the evening before that Tamar had tied up the gate with what
came nearest to her hand, namely, certain tendrils of a creeper which
hung thereabouts from the rock that formed the chasm by which the valley
was approached in that direction. These tendrils she had twisted
together so as to form a band, never supposing that Brindle, though a
young and female creature, could possibly be sufficiently capricious to
leave her usual fragrant pasturage, in order to pull and nibble this
withering band. But, however, so it was, as Tamar asserted, for there
when she came up to the place, the band was broken, the gate forced
open, and Brindle walking quietly forward through the narrow gully
towards the moor.
Tamar being come to the gate, stopped there, and called Brindle, who
knew Tamar as well as she knew her own calf. But the animal had snuffed
the air of liberty which came pouring down the little pass, from the
open moor, and she walked deliberately on with that air which seemed to
say,--"I hear your voice, but I am not coming.
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