By-and-by Mrs. Glen came strolling out from the house, with that assumed air of ease and leisure which is always so comically transparent. She meant to assume that she had nothing to do, and was taking a walk for pleasure, which was about as unlikely a thing as could have happened, almost as unlikely as pure interest in Rob’s work, which was her real motive. She wanted to see what he had done, whether he had taken that bonniest view, how he was getting on with it, and if it was a thing which could, by any possibility, dazzle and delight a young lady who was an heiress. Assuredly she had not sent out her son to dream over the landscape, to do anything but draw it there and then without delay, as if he had been sent to plough a field. She came up to him, elaborately unoccupied and at her ease, yet explanatory. “I’ve just come out to look about me,” she said, with fictitious jauntiness. “So you’re at it again! Eh, laddie, what a waste o’ time and good paper, no to speak of thae colors that cost money! And how far are you on by this time? are you near done?” Rob had the presence of mind to shut his book hastily. “I have just begun, mother; but, I did not think you took any interest in my poor drawing.” “Me--take an interest? No! But if you’re to waste my substance and your ain time taking pictures, I may as well see what there is to see as other folk.” “You shall see it when it is done,” said Rob. “It is not in a condition to show now. It is not a thing that can be done in a minute. There is a great deal of thought necessary--the different harmonies of color, the relation of one part to another--” Mrs. Glen was overawed. “Ane would think it was some grand affair. A bit scart upon the paper, and a wheen greens and blues: and ye talk as if it was a battle to fight or a grand law-plea.” “My dear mother,” said Rob, “many a man could fight a battle that could not draw the Kirkton, with all the hills behind it, and the clouds, and the air.” “Air! ye can paint air, ye clever lad!” cried Mrs. Glen, with a laugh. “Maybe you can paint the coos mowing and the sheeps baaing? I would not wonder. It’s as easy as the air, which every bairn kens is no a thing you can see.” “I don’t say I can do it myself,” said Rob; “but I’ve seen pictures where you would think you heard the cows and the sheep--yes, and the skylarks up in the sky, and the hare plashing about in the wet woods.” “Just that,” said his mother, “and the country gomerel that believes all you like to tell her. Among a’ thae bonnie things there should be a place for the one that’s to be imposed upon; but you’ll no put me there, I’ll warrant you,” she cried, flouncing away in sudden wrath.