Robert dared not trust his voice to speak, to utter his thanks. Finally he burst out. “My lord, how can I ever thank ye for this unlooked-for generosity to an absolute stranger!” he cried brokenly. “For years I have been praying for a publisher to edit my songs, but I could see no silver lining to the dark clouds of obscurity hanging over my unhappy, friendless head, clouds which threatened to engulf me in their maddening embrace. But now,” he continued eloquently, his voice ringing with gladness, “the bright sunlight is peeping around the fast disappearing cloud, warming my very soul with its joyous rays. Oh, my lord, if ever the name of Robert Burns should e’en become familiar to his countrymen,’twill be through your graciousness, your benevolence, to a poor unknown, humble plowman,” and his eyes filled with tears of love and gratitude for his noble benefactor. Lord Glencairn took a pinch of snuff from the small oblong box he held in his hand, and used his handkerchief vigorously to conceal the tears of sympathy which had welled up in his eyes as he listened to the recital of Robert’s ambitions, his hopes and fears. “My dear lad,” he said, trying to speak lightly, “I have done nothing as yet to deserve such fulsome words of thanks. ’Tis but a trifling thing I propose doing, and it pleases me, else perhaps I might not trouble myself to speak in your behalf.” “Ah, noo, sir,” cried Mrs. Burns, wiping away the tears of joy, “’tis your big, noble heart which prompts ye to assist a struggling genius to something better, higher, and nobler in this life. God bless ye for it.” The door opened, and Gilbert Burns quietly entered the room. Removing his Tam O’Shanter, he bowed respectfully to Lord Glencairn and said briefly, “Your Lordship’s coach is repaired.” With a word of thanks Lord Glencairn rose and assisted his wife into her cloak. “Thank goodness we can proceed on our journey while it is yet light,” she said animatedly, going to the door. “I assure you, Mistress Burns, we have enjoyed your hospitality amazing well,” said Lord Glencairn, turning to their hostess. “Believe me, we’ll not forget it.” They left the house, followed by their admiring hosts. Suddenly Lady Glencairn gave a little cry of delighted surprise as her eyes rested on the drooping figure of Highland Mary, sitting disconsolately on a large rock beside the old well. “What a sweet, pretty flower of a lass!” she cried enthusiastically. “Come here, child,” she called aloud. Mary looked up quickly with a little gasp of surprise, for she had not noticed them come out. She rose bashfully to her feet and stood hesitating, her eyes timidly fixed on a piece of heather she was holding in her hand. Lady Glencairn laughed amusedly. “I vow ’tis an uncommon modest shy wildflower truly,” she said to her husband. “Come here, child, I’ll not bite you,” and she held out her hands toward the wondering girl.