Archie came and sat by him, and recommenced his tales of mountain and moorland and forest. He told him of the fairy knoll and the smugglers' cave, about the heather, now so green and promising, about early lambs, and all the little incidents of life in the hills. Kenneth listened, but his thoughts were far away. These glens and wilds, dearly though he loved them, were not all the world. The poets and writers that had so charmed him hitherto, and served to throw a glamour of romance over the beautiful land in which he lived--Burns, Ossian, Tannahill, Campbell, Scott, and the Ettrick Shepherd,--they had made him love it, oh! so dearly love it, with that burning, passionate patriotism which only the heart can feel. "That beats beneath a Scottish plaid." But--had he not been living too much in the past? was there not a power setting in that was threatening to tear Scotland from the hands of the Scotch? Ought he to stay among these mountains and dream dreams, instead of going out into the world beyond to work or fight for the dear land that gave him birth? Ought he not to try even to gather wealth for the sake of those he would leave behind? Clouds were gathering over the glen. A foreigner was soon to take possession of it, with no more love for the soil than if the heather that grew on every acre of it had not been dyed a hundred times over with the blood of the hero and the patriot. Could he stay at home and see his father's grave, poor old Nancy's too, levelled? His thin hands covered his face, the boy sobbed quietly, and the tears trickled through his fingers. CHAPTER NINE. THE STORM CLOUD BURSTS OVER THE GLEN. "When simmer comes smilin' o'er mountain and lea, The green haughs and glens are pleasant to see, And pleasant the hum o' the merry wild bee, When the rose, when the rose and lily are blawin'. An' blithely the mavis salutes the gay morn As sweetly he sings on the snawy white thorn, While the laverock soars high o'er the lang yellow corn, And the moorcocks, the moorcocks are cheerily crawin'." Old Song. Scene: Summer once more on hill and glen. On the mountain brow, the heather is bursting into bloom and bee-haunted. Down in the lower lands the corn is growing long and green, mingled with orange of marigold and crimson blush of wild poppy, and the meadows snowed over with gowan and scented clover. Fish leap gladly in stream and tarn, the lofty pines wave their dark plumes in the sunny air, and every wood and copse is filled with melody. A right merry party are returning from the rocks by the seashore, where they have spent hours in wandering and wondering, for they found something new to admire at every turn. Jessie is here with her governess and Miss Grant, and Kenneth strong and well again, to say nothing of Kooran and Shot, and last--probably least--Archie McCrane.