Chapter 2

THE SHEEP-SHEARING.

"Plain living and high thinking ...
The homely beauty of the good old cause,
...our peace, our fearful innocence,
And pure religion breathing household laws."

"A happy youth, and their old age
Is beautiful and free."

The sheep-shearings at Up-Hill Farm were a kind of rural Olympics.
Shepherds came there from far and near to try their skill against each
other,--young men in their prime mostly, with brown, ruddy faces, and
eyes of that bright blue lustre which is only gained by a free, open-air
life. The hillside was just turning purple with heather bloom, and along
the winding, stony road the yellow asphodels were dancing in the wind.
Everywhere there was the scent of bog-myrtle and wild-rose and
sweetbrier, and the tinkling sound of becks babbling over glossy rocks;
and in the glorious sunshine and luminous air, the mountains appeared to
expand and elevate, and to throw out glowing peaks and summits into
infinite space.

Hand in hand the squire and his daughter climbed the fellside. They had
left home in high spirits, merrily flinging back the mother's and
Sophia's last advices; but gradually they became silent, and then a
little mournful. "I wonder why it is, father?" asked Charlotte; "I'm not
at all tired, and how can fresh air and sunshine make one melancholy?"

"Maybe, now, sad thoughts are catching. I was having a few. Eh? What?"

"I don't know. Why were you having sad thoughts?"

"Well, then, I really can't understand why. There's no need to fret over
changes. At the long end the great change puts all right. Charlotte, I
have been coming to Barf Latrigg's shearings for about half a century. I
remember the first. I held my nurse's hand, and wore such a funny little
coat, and such a big lace collar. And, dear me! it was just such a day
as this, thirty-two years ago, that your mother walked up to the
shearing with me, Charlotte; and I asked her if she would be my wife,
and she said she would. Thou takes after her a good deal; she had the
very same bright eyes and bonny face, and straight, tall shape thou has
to-day. Barf Latrigg was sixty then, turning a bit gray, but able to
shear with any man they could put against him. He'll be ninety now; but
his father lived till he was more than a hundred, and most of his
fore-elders touched the century. He's had his troubles too."

"I never heard of them."

"No. They are dead and buried. A dead trouble may be forgot: it is the
living troubles that make the eyes dim, and the heart fail. Yes, yes;
Barf is as happy as a boy now, but I remember when he was back-set and
fore-set with trouble. In life every thing goes