“Did ye say London, Jamie?” Hillocks was understood to have shown great presence of mind in unparalleled circumstances; “an' are ye in yir senses?” “As sune as ye recover yir strength, smith,” said Jamie, taking no notice of fatuous questions, “a 'll be obleeged gin ye wud turn the key in this lock. It's a wee dour tae manage; a' hevna used ma bag sin a' gaed tae the saut water saxteen year past.” “Did ye ever hear the like?” and the smith looked round the circle for support, refusing to treat Jamie's demand as an ordinary matter of business. “What are ye glowerin' at me for as if a' wes a fairlie?” and Jamie affected anger; “hes a Drumtochty man no as muckle richt tae see the metropolis o' the country as ither fouk, gin he can pay his fare up an' doon? “A've been wantin' tae see the Tooer o' London, whar mony a lord hes pairted wi' his heid, an' Westminster Abbey, whar the michty dead are lyin', an' the Hooses o' Parliament, whar they haver a hale nicht through, an' the streets, whar the soond o' feet never ceases. “The fact is,” and Jamie tasted the situation to the full, “a 'm anxious tae improve ma mind, an' gin ye speak me fair a 'll maybe gie the Glen a lecture in the schulehoose in the winter time wi' a magic-lantern, ye ken.” The neighbours regarded him with horror, and, after he had departed, united their wisdom to solve the mystery. “Jamie's by himsel in the Glen,” summed up Hillocks, “an' hes a wy o' his ain. Ma thocht is that he juist took a notion o' seein' London, an' noo that we 've contered (opposed) him, Jamie 'ill go, gin it cost him ten notes.” On his way home Jamie gave Mary Robertson a cry, who was sitting very lonesome and sad-like before her door. “Hoo are ye, Mary? the smell o' spring's in the air, an' the buds are burstin' bonnie. Ye 'ill no hae heard that a 'm aff tae London the morrow, juist for a ploy, ye ken, tae see the wonders.” As Mary only stared at him, Jamie offered explanations in atonement for his foolishness. “Ye see a 've aye hed an ambeetion tae see the big warld that lies ootside oor bit Glen, for its far awa' soon' hes been often in ma ear. A 've savit a note or twa, an' a 'll get a glimpse afore a' dee.” “It's a Providence, an' naethin' less than an answer tae prayer,” broke in Mary, in great agitation; “here hev I been murnin' that a' cudna get tae London masel, an' that a' kent naebody there, till ma heart wes weary in ma breist. “Naethin' is sairer, Jamie, than tae ken that ane ye luve is lyin' ill amang strangers, wi' naebody o' her bluid tae speak a couthy word tae her, puir lassie, or gie her a drink. A' wes juist seein' her lyin' alane at the top of the big hoose, an' wushin' she wes wi 's a' in the Glen.” “Posty said something aboot Lily bein' a wee sober,” Jamie remarked, with much composure, as if the matter had just come into his memory; “an' noo a' mind ye expeckit her hame for a holiday laist August. She wudna be wantin' tae traivel sae far north, a'm jalousin'.”