. . .The past with the tender associations that make a woman’s life was tightening its hold on Jean, and when they looked down on the Glen from the height of Burnbrae, her voice broke again:

“It’s a bonnie sicht, John, an’ kindly tae oor eyes; we ‘ill never see anither tae sateesfy oor auld age.”

“A’ve seen nae ither a’ ma days,” said Burnbrae, “an’ there can be nane sae dear tae me noo in this warld; but it can be boucht ower dear, lass,” and when she looked at him, “wi’ oor souls, Jean, wi’ oor souls.”

No Drumtochty man felt at ease on Sabbath, or spoke quite like himself at home, till he had escaped from his blacks and had his tea. Then he stretched himself with an air of negligence, and started on a survey of his farm, which allowed of endless meditation, and lasted in summer time unto the going down of the sun. It was a leisurely progress. . . Read More