The Helena independent. [volume] (Helena, Mont.) 1875-1943, 1890-08-03

women do much Of the harvesting. hAve
son them hoeing potatoes with curious OLD
hoes having wooden blades, evt1eosly o.
home aS%s % :. ;... "a But ss Issds
under ea!.iv. ';ss Las az niass a.. 4
BE vic cutting peat. He lifted tie large
blocks with his spade and she divided them
into bricks and laid them mp in little stacks
70 dry. Az appeoeehed thsy Anished thar
root Of bog wood fennd under the turf and
ehs turned up her skirt like 6shwife's and
cams down thu path carrying In It bushsl
or 20 Of pests for immediate consumption.
He vas al in brown tones and shs in dull
reds, and In spite OF the diffeFent LANDSCAPES
and the different racs. they were mot unlike
melancholy against the twilight sky.
Il 10 lonely island, whore one may
thread the Rlens for hours withcnt paesine
! hut or human bsing; all the colors dark,
and little blooming but tho heather: but
some morning il may be ones fortune to
surprise /. little clachan IN the hustle q
clustered shielinRs have built flre by the
brookside and are heating water in an iron
kettle. Each woman has her wooden tub,
she dips from the stream to I'LL it, pours in
little from tho kettle, turns mp her skirts.
steps into her washtub and treads out the
clothes with her feet instead Of rubbing
them with her hands. Bundle after bundle
of coarse, dark-colored dannel-much of il
homo woven-is brought out. Ono sses lit
tie linen, except the pinafores Of the child
rem. There is very little gossip among the
washerwomen and no laughing. Each
woman treads and rinses her clothes in si-
lence and little girls tread and rinse in inn
itation Of their mothers. Above tho dap
ping OF wet wool one hears the screaming Of
the gulls and perhaps the far of blsat Of
lamb.
The silence is the more noticeable because
formerly the Gaels had tongues. Once and
once only I have heard q woman sing. She
was young, sturdily built. With q pleasant
sun-browned face and dark hair oombpd
women of Skye, as we'll say here az any
where, are good-looking peasant types, but
anything rising above average attractive
ness is rare. They are stronger and moro
wholesome in appearance than one would
expect from their diet and their toilsome
lives. They go bareheaded or shawled, and
wear shoulder shawls crossed on their
hosoms and knotted at the waist behind.
Their dark skirts are short and plain.
The girl who sang was milking one of the
long haired, lonR-horned Highland cattle
that are being driven out.by sheep, even as
the sheep are being displaced to make room
for deer preserves. Dame Mcqueen tells me
eA0k0 10 wv AnAAAA18 1OukU tA0t WIG
women sing sometimes, though they have
not now much milking. She has lined
them for me twice, three times, but am
not sure that have them. This 10 some
thing like one: Es,gBs
Turn the white backed black cove, Duncan,
Pax t 6rowR
And you ehau get bonny wife.
/ think it was this that I heard. The other
is about the COWS Of Colin, but have not
yet made it out at all. Dame Mcqueen
says it is much more 'sbreagh," that is
pretty.
The skye ootter is At once fisher and shep,
herd, and even at that ekes ont the barest
living, the hills are so rock-bound and
the behring's 50 oapricious. Some of the
women 90 out to fish in the little open boats
in which are dared such stormy cruises, and
at the Sligachan hotel have seen them bar
tering their own catch packed in baskets
with bracken and fresh leaves Another OF
their homely arts is that of grinding their
own oats between two stones turned by a
home made water wheel. A young SCOTCH
man was telling me day or two ago that
he had seen this operation performed by
two women quite recently, behind one Of
the sod novels that here and there remain
and that an English lady was saying yester-
they would be quite warm" The sod hut
is built Of turfs, walls and thatch, and is
about the most wretched sty that ever held
a human being.
The crofter is being crowded out Of ex-
istence by the lords Of the soil who raise a
hundred deer on land that might feed a
thousand human beings, but when ask
Dame Mcqueen why they do not 20 else
where she only shakes her head. This is
home, unless indeed it be true that
The Gael has no homo under the sun
II is 10 O'Clock, the northern twilight is
closing and darkness settling in. The rain
is falling and from the shieling's door
stone hear above its downfall the beating
Of the waves and the screaming of the
Rulls, This is sad land.
ELIZA PUTNAM HEAroN.
Convrioht.