See yonder great velvet droning bee. Fox-glove-bells are swinging crimson against the green of tall fern-leaves. He enters a bell to drink of the honey. Beauty to beauty. And yonder again a splendid steel-blue, gauzy-winged dragon-fly has alighted on a pink bramble-blossom, and is trembling all over with the joy that is in him; and there are bees on the white clover, bees on the reddening heather-bloom, and a blue-butterfly on the flat yellow blossom of a frog-bit, while a hawk-fly has just alighted on the blood-tipped orange of the bird's-foot trefoil. An' it's oh to be young! An' it's aye to be young. But the charm of the early August day who dare to try to paint! Afar away the blue sea dotted with brown-sailed boats here and there, a sea calm as the sky above it, only breaking here and there into circling snow where a rock lifts its dark head; a beach that is all green because the tide is high; sailing sea-birds everywhere; dark rooks in crowds, for the love-time has long gone by; nearer and beneath this brae-land the heads of swelling, stately pine-trees; forest to the right and left, forests in the rear, and afar off the brown mountain raising its stern and rocky head up into the heavenly ether; and a gentle breeze fanning all the flowers. 'An' it's oh to be young!' CHAPTER VI. 'THERE IS THAT IN YOUR EYE WHICH CRONA LOVES.' In this day's climb Antony could not help admiring the strength and agility of his child-companion; she was indeed an infant prodigy, thanks perhaps to her very extraordinary training. With her, or compared to her, Blake hardly felt fit. Perhaps neither did Wallace, who zigzagged back and fore to make the ascent more easy, as dogs always do when climbing. But they gained the summit at last, and only mountaineers know the joy of resting a while on a hill-top. Wallace lay down to pant, with half a yard more or less of pink tongue hanging over his right jowl, and Antony threw himself on the ground. No heather here, hardly even moss, and a strong wind blowing. Antony was for a time too tired to talk much; but he asked a question now and then, and Lotty answered him often quaintly enough--for instance, when he said, 'I have not seen your mother yet, Lotty.' 'I never had a mother, Mr Blake,' she innocently made answer. 'But, child, everyone must have had a mother.' 'Ye-es. At least I suppose so. But I think my mother must have ceased to be a property some time before I came.' 'Do you love your father, Lotty?' 'Except when he beats me.' The child was lying back against recumbent Wallace, and on her bare arm above the elbow Antony thought he saw a wale. He seized her by the hand and uncovered the streak. 'Lotty,' he said, 'who struck you with a cane? And, Lotty, I saw a blue mark on your leg while in the boat. Who kicked you, child?'