“Hoo am I to win in than, sir? I’m auld, gien onybody ever was auld! An’ hoo’s yersel’ to win in, sir--for ye maun be some auld yersel’ by this time, thof I min’ weel yer father a bit loonie in a tartan kilt.” “What wad ye say to be made yoong again, auld frien’?” suggested the laird, with a smile of wonderful sweetness. “Eh, sir! there’s naething to that effec’ i’ the word.” “Hoot!” rejoined the laird, “wad ye hae me plaguit to tell the laddie there a’ thing I wad du for him, as gien he hadna a hert o’ his ain to tell ’im a score o’ things--ay, hun’ers o’ things? Dinna ye ken ’at the speerit o’ man’s the can’le o’ the Lord?” “But sae mony for a’ that follows but their ain fancies!--That ye maun alloo, laird; an’ what comes o’ yer can’le than?” “That’s sic as never luik whaur the licht fa’s, but aye some ither gait, for they carena to walk by the same. But them ’at orders their wy’s by what licht they hae, there’s no fear o’ them. Even sud they stummle, they sanna fa’.” “’Deed, laird, I’m thinkin’ ye may be richt. I hae stummlet mony’s the time, but I’m no doon yet; an’ I hae a guid houp ’at maybe, puir dissiple as I am, the Maister may lat on ’at he kens me, whan that great and terrible day o’ the Lord comes.” Cosmo began to stir. His father went to the bed-side, and saw at a glance that the boy was better. He told him what the doctor had decreed. Cosmo said he was quite able to get up and go home that minute. But his father would not hear of it. “I can’t bear to think of you walking back all that way alone, papa,” objected Cosmo. “Ye dinna think, Cosmo,” interposed Aggie, “’at I’m gauin to lat the laird gang hame himlane, an’ me here to be his body-gaird! I ken my duty better nor that.” But the laird did not go till they had all had tea together, and the doctor had again come and gone, and given his decided opinion that all Cosmo needed was a little rest, and that he would be quite well in a day or two. Then at length his father left him, and, comforted, set out with Aggie for Glenwarlock. CHAPTER VII. DREAMS. The gloamin’ came down much sooner in Grannie’s cottage than on the sides of the eastward hills, but the old woman made up her little fire, and it glowed a bright heart to the shadowy place. Though the room was always dusky, it was never at this season quite dark any time of the night. It was not absolutely needful, except for the little cooking required by the invalid--for as such, in her pride of being his nurse, Grannie regarded him--but she welcomed the excuse for a little extra warmth to her old limbs during the night watches. Then she sat down in her great chair, and all was still. “What for arena ye spinnin’, Grannie?” said Cosmo. “I like fine to hear the wheel singin’ like a muckle flee upo’ the winnock. It spins i’ my heid lang lingles o’ thouchts, an’ dreams, an’ wad-be’s. Neist to hearin’ yersel’ tell a tale, I like to hear yer wheel gauin’. It has a w’y o’ ’ts ain wi’ me!”