Publisher's Synopsis
Had you been in the beautiful and wild forest of Glenvoie on that bright and blue-skied September morning--on one of its hills, let us say--and heard the music of those two boys' voices swelling up towards you, nothing that I know of could have prevented you from joining in. So joyous, so full of hope were they withal, that the very tune itself, to say nothing of the words, would have sent sorrow right straight away from your heart, if there had been any to send. "Cheer, boys, cheer, no more of idle sorrow, Courage, true hearts, shall bear us on our way; Hope flies before, and points the bright to-morrow, Let us forget the dangers of to-day." There was a pause just here, and from your elevated situation on that rocky pap, looking down, you would have rested your eyes on one of the prettiest rolling woodland scenes in all broad Scotland. It was a great waving ocean of foliage, and the sunset of autumn was over it all, lying here and there in patches of crimson, brown, and yellow, which the solemn black of pine-trees, and the funereal green of dark spruces only served to intensify. Flap-flap-flap! huge wood-pigeons arise in the air and go sailing over the woods. They are frightened, as well they may be, for a moment afterwards two guns ring out almost simultaneously, and so still is the air that you can hear the dull thud of fallen game.
