Our eyes smarted, our nerves were on edge, we squabbled like nervous children, going into a rage without provocation and becoming abjectly penitent the next moment. We set ourselves to filling the chinks in our wall, but we had neither enthusiasm nor interest in our work.

‘Will we make Lime and mix mortar?’ Terry asked.

‘How long do you think we’ve got to patch this filthy wall?’ I demanded. ‘Years?’

‘You don’t need to snap my head off,’ she retorted.

We brought clay in a pail from the lochside and plastered the crevices. As we had sunk to immeasurable depths on a reverse, so a little success elated us. When the wall was proofed and lapped in clay our fire blazed up, the cave cleared of smoke, we looked at each other with radiant pride, forgetting every squabble in the moment of accomplishment.

The cure was not quite complete. Occasionally a gust drove smoke down the chimney, though it was no worse in that respect than many chimneys in houses we had seen. But I was encouraged by our victory and determined to make it final. At nightfall one day I took the second drain-pipe we had brought from Ardverikie and up-ended it over our chimney-can. When it was in place and fixed with a few stays I heard Terry’s voice crying from inside the cave. I rushed to find out what had happened.

‘Look, Hugh!’ she exclaimed, pointing to the fire. It blazed merrily and the air of the cave was sweet and clean.

‘We’ve done it, we’ve done it!’ I shouted, and hastened to placate fate by adding: ‘Of course the trouble is that we must take the pipe down through the day in case it’s noticed.’

‘I don’t care if it comes down twice an hour,’ Terry said in an enraptured voice. ‘Now we can get ahead with our house. What about light, Hugh? We won’t let a trifle like light prevent us now.’

‘I could kill a sheep,’ I said slowly, ‘and make candles of the tallow.’

Terry shook her head.

‘We’re not going to become sheep-stealers for the sake of a candle,’ she returned.

I laughed at her reproof.

‘Oh, I didn’t intend to take a sheep from a farm,’ I returned; ‘but to stalk one of the brutes that are running wild in the forest and warning deer whenever I come in sight—if I could stalk them! They’re wilder than deer and they whistle when they see you, standing on the top of every craggy knoll to give warning! Maybe you’re right. Don’t you fancy a nice mutton chop? They’d be as tough as leather and as thin as rakes probably.’