“We ken no more, Maister Sutherlan’, what we’re growin’ till, than that neep-seed there kens what a neep is, though a neep it will be. The only odds is, that we ken that we dinna ken, and the neep-seed kens nothing at all aboot it. But ae thing, Maister Sutherlan’, we may be sure o’: that, whatever it be, it will be worth God’s makin’ an’ our growin’.” A solemn stillness fell upon Hugh’s spirit, as he recalled these words; out of which stillness, I presume, grew the little parable which follows; though Hugh, after he had learned far more about the things therein hinted at, could never understand how it was, that he could have put so much more into it, than he seemed to have understood at that period of his history. For Harry said: “Wouldn’t this be a nice place for a story, Mr. Sutherland? Do you ever tell stories, sir?” “I was just thinking of one, Harry; but it is as much yours as mine, for you sowed the seed of the story in my mind.” “Do you mean a story that never was in a book—a story out of your own head? Oh! that will be grand!” “Wait till we see what it will be, Harry; for I can’t tell you how it will turn out.” After a little further pause, Hugh began: “Long, long ago, two seeds lay beside each other in the earth, waiting. It was cold, and rather wearisome; and, to beguile the time, the one found means to speak to the other. “‘What are you going to be?’ said the one. “‘I don’t know,’ answered the other. “‘For me,’ rejoined the first, ‘I mean to be a rose. There is nothing like a splendid rose. Everybody will love me then!’ “‘It’s all right,’ whispered the second; and that was all he could say; for somehow when he had said that, he felt as if all the words in the world were used up. So they were silent again for a day or two. “‘Oh, dear!’ cried the first, ‘I have had some water. I never knew till it was inside me. I’m growing! I’m growing! Good-bye!’ “‘Good-bye!’ repeated the other, and lay still; and waited more than ever.