He lay down at the foot of the willow, and in his clear rich voice, he sang me that pleasant song of Burns--it had always been a favourite of his--of which the burden is 'Bonnie lassie, will ye go to the birks of Aberfeldy?' I listened, thinking how delightful it was to hear that voice again. When its last tones had died away, I thanked him, and said-- "This is not Aberfeldy, but we have the birks." "And the bonnie lassie too." "To be sure; but will you just move a bit?" "Why so?" "I want to get back again, and the spot where you are lying is the only convenient one." "Thank you for the information. I was wondering what sort of punishment I could devise for you: it is now settled; you shall stay there." "And be taken up for trespassing?" "Why not?" "Or for poaching?" "Why not?" At length he relented, but said I was to sing him another song; then another, and so on, until I had sung him every song and ballad I knew. The intervals of rest were filled up with talking, laughing, and jesting at one another across the stream. I had never felt so merry, seldom so happy; yet once I could not help observing remorsefully-- "And Kate, who is alone at home, and thinks you are so busy sketching!" "Why did she make me take you with me?" "Do I prevent you from sketching, Cornelius?" "Of course you do; but for you I should have travelled for miles, and come home at night groaning beneath the load of crags, lonely fountains, cottages, farm-houses, snug little woods, ruins, etc. Instead of which, here I am lying on my back, looking up at trees and sky, and losing all my precious time in listening to 'Auld Robin Gray,' 'The Exile of Erin,' 'Charlie, you're my darling,' and I know not what else. Oh, Daisy, Daisy! are you not ashamed of yourself?--sing me another song." "Indeed, Cornelius, I do not know another." "Then I must have mercy on you." He moved away, but kept a keen, watchful look fastened on me. There was however no need to fear. In a second I was by his side. He chid me for form's sake, then smiled, stroked my hair, and passing his arm around me, said-- "The other one could not have done as much, could she, Daisy?" "What other one, Cornelius?" "The one I carried in my arms from Leigh to Ryde." "No, Cornelius, she could not, and that was why Providence sent her so kind a friend." I forget his answer, but I remember that we sat again on the grassy banks and lingered there until the little brook shone red and burning in the light of the broad round sun that slowly sank down behind us, filling with fiery glow the space between earth and sky.