He also told us he could
remember the time when there was no mail-coach in that part of the
country, the letters for that neighbourhood being sent to a man, a
tailor by trade, who being often very busy, sent his wife to deliver
them, so that Her Majesty's mails were carried by a female!
[Illustration: A STORM IN WICK HARBOUR.]
Almost the last piece of advice given us before leaving home was, "Mind
that you always get a good breakfast before starting out in a morning,"
and fortunately we did not neglect it on this occasion, for it proved
one of the worst day's walks that we ever experienced. Helmsdale was our
next stage, and a direct road led to it along the coast, a distance of
sixteen miles. But my brother was a man of original ideas, and he had
made up his mind that we should walk there by an inland route, and climb
over the Maiden's Paps mountain on our way.
The wind had increased considerably during the night, and the rain began
to fall in torrents as we left the Dunbeath Inn, our mackintoshes and
leggings again coming in useful. The question now arose whether we
should adhere to our original proposal, or proceed to Helmsdale by the
shortest route.
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