“Is a very necessary, noble, and honourable art,” said the Laird, “perfectly so, Halbert; and I am by no means a sentimental admirer of thriftless hedges; but I am old, you know, and not a good judge: you must take it into your own hands.” Halbert was not quite satisfied. “Still, Mossgray, if you are not engaged--” The good Mossgray could not deny the youth his request. “Well, Halbert, if it must be. Come then, let us set about this business of yours.” Halbert was very full of his undertaking. He began to tell Mossgray what his crops were to be, and the measures he would take with obstinate land, which was not naturally obedient to the discipline of the plough. The country looked very cheerful as they passed on. Round about, skirting the horizon on every side were ranges of low hills, some rich with fir trees and softer young spring foliage to the very top; some dark with moss and heather unbloomed. Winding roads, white far-seen lines, lost themselves among the hills, and through the trees, which divided their path from the river, glimpses of the wan water, flowing on full and broad to the sea, glimmered through the soft, gay, fluttering leaves of spring. Turning back on the elevation which they had reached, the full Firth, quivering like molten silver, stretched between them and the clear creeks and villages of the English shore, over whose stillness muffled mountains watched in the background; and looming out against the pale sky in the West, his broad sides darkened here and there, as if with stationary shadows, rose the bluff Scottish hill, whose strong brow every night was crowned with the glory of the sunset. There was a hum of voices in the pleasant air, and ploughs were turning up the rich, dark, fragrant earth, and the “tentie seedsman” stalked about the fields. The sky and the leaves were soft and fresh, so fresh and soft as they only are in the early year, and the refreshed land seemed to open its moist breast with gladness to the kindly processes of spring. “I think there is something grand, Halbert,” said the old man, pausing to look back, “in the art, which out of that bare earth can bring seed and bread. I should rather have myself endowed with this wealth of the soil, were I young like you, than choose the barren, metallic fortune you were aspiring after a short time since. This, you know, pleases me; to inherit the soil and the sky, the seed-time and harvest, the sunshine and the rain of heaven; it seems to place us in more immediate dependance on the Maker of all, the great Suzerain above, of whom we hold this feoff, for the honour of His kingly name and the service of His people. I like it, Halbert--it is a greater gift than barren wealth. It pleases me to feel myself, with Paul, a vassal--a _Knecht_, as your German has it--holding my lands under the fealty vow and oath of true service. I would we did but better remember that we stood here feudatories of high Heaven.”