The Argosy — page 210: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

193 UP ON THE MOOR. OU won't easily find, even in Devonshire, a prettier spot than Coombe Burleigh. The score or so of thatched, deep-porched cottages, forming the village proper, lie near the mouth of a narrow glen, down which the Burleigh brook hurries noisily along its winding way. <A few farm-houses lie scattered on the steep, wooded sides of the glen, and near them bare patches of rich, red soil mark the course the plcugh has lately taken. At the head of the valley a grand swell of blue moorland rises boldly up against the sky, here and there lifting itself into a great granite tor. For Coombe Bur- leigh les on the edge of Dartmoor; and all but oz the moor there stands, some mile or two from the village, the big old house in which for many a generation past have dwelt the Carews of Coombe Burleigh. One morning last shooting-season a very comfortable and pleasant little party had assembled around the loaded breakfast-table at Coombe House ; for Squire Carew fairly brimmed over with hospitality and bonhommie, and his handsome, cheery wife came no whit behind in the same delightful virtues. Then there was Madge Carew, a frank and fearless girl of twenty, whose soft black eyes, raven hair, and creamy complexion told that the Squire was not far wrong in boast- ing of her as ‘pure Devonshire, born and bred.” Just now she is busily ministering to the creature comfort of her brother Tom and his guest, Aleck Fairburn, a young Highland laird, whose acquaint- ance ‘Tom had lately made in town, and in his father’s own hospitable fashion had brought home for a week’s shooting on the moor. For some days after the arrival of the young men rain had fallen in a downright and persevering fashion, which made the Highlander feel at home in his new quarters at once; but to-day the sun shone: cheerily out, and all preparations had been made for a long day’s. sport. ‘But you must beware of the Dartmoor fogs, Mr. Fairburn,” said: Miss Madge, presently. ‘‘ You know they come down with extra-. ordinary suddenness ; and it’s no Joke to be lost up on the moor in. a fog, I assure you.” The young laird turned to her with a smile. “You forget, Miss Carew, that fog is no stranger in the Highlands. either, and that we have our moors as well as you. I must have. profited very little by the deerstalking at home if a mist makes me: suddenly forget the points of the compass.” “But all the points of the compass together won’t save you fronr tumbling into a peat-hole full of ink-black water, or pitching, head VOL. XLII. O GOMIGIOOKSHEO