Behind the walnut tree, the poor old Dragon feebly bends over the flower-beds, plucking up here and there, with an effort, a solitary weed, but oftenest looking idly towards Rose, whom he would fain go and speak to, were not her preoccupation so evident. The great walnut waves its large fragrant leaves in the soft morning air between them, and the sun burns in the gilded spear on the turret, and the broad light clothes the whole country like a garment. Strongly contrasted in this framework of summer life about them, are the two human creatures who complete the picture. The girl lingering on the threshold of a fair life unknown to her, and peopling all its fairy world with scenes which thrill her to a half-conscious joy; the old man in the torpor of great age, vacantly admiring her fresh youth, and with a strange, dim curiosity about her, who she is, and what she would say if he addressed her. To him a long life has passed like a dream, and appears in a mist to his memory, as in a mist it appears to her imagination; but the time is long past when anything could find out the old faint beating heart of Adam Comrie, to thrill it with emotion. His curiosities, his likings, his thoughts, have all become vague as a child’s; but they lie on the surface, and never move him, as a child’s fancies do. “See how the old man looks at Rose,” whispered Katie Calder; “but she doesna see him yet; and, Violet, look at her. She’s bonnie.” “But what way is she sitting there?” said Violet, wonderingly, “when she might be at the water-side. She’s thinking about Harry; but what needs folk think about Harry now? Harry is in his bed and sleeping, Rose; but, oh! I see--you were not thinking about him after all.” Rose started with a vivid blush. No, indeed, she had not been thinking of Harry; it sounded like an accusation. “And you’ll be yon birkie’s Lady Rose?” said the Dragon, coming forward. “Aweel I wadna say but he thought ye bonnier than my white bush; but they didna howk up the rose either; that’s ae comfort--though nae thanks to him, nor to this lad, Mr. Hairy, that took his counsel. What do they ca’ this little bairn?” “My name’s Violet,” said Lettie, with dignity. “There was a Miss Violet in the last family; but she would have made six o’ that bit creature,” said the old servant. “What way are ye a’ sae wee?” “Eh! Lettie’s a head higher than me!” exclaimed Katie Calder in amazement.