We journeyed on alongside the loch, when
as the shades of evening were coming on we met a young man and a young
woman apparently in great distress. They told us they had crossed the
loch in a small boat to look for ferns, and as the tide was going out
had thought they might safely leave their boat on the side of the loch,
but when they returned they could not find it anywhere. They seemed to
have been equally unsuccessful with regard to the ferns, as we could not
see any in their possession, but we guessed they had other interests, so
we went to their assistance and soon found the boat, which doubtless was
in the place where they had left it. The tide must have receded farther
than they had anticipated, and they had looked for it too near the
water. We assisted them to launch the boat, and when they were safely
seated the young woman, who had looked far more alarmed than her
companion, smiled upon us sweetly. In response to their looks and words
of thanks we wished them a pleasant and safe journey; but we never saw
any ferns! Our conversation as we resumed our walk was largely upon this
adventure, and we wondered if the ferns could not have been found as
easily on the other side of the loch as on this--but then we knew that
Love is proverbially blind, and we consigned this fern story to the
region of our mythological remembrances, and were still in good humour
and not too tired when we reached the Cairndow inn, where we were
hospitably, sumptuously, and we could safely add, when we paid the bill
next morning, expensively entertained.
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