Amongst the horses on the farm, was a certain small mare, which, although she worked as hard as any, was yet an excellent one to ride, and Cosmo, as often as there was not much work doing, rode her where he would, and boy and mare were much attached to each other. Sometimes he would have her every day for several weeks, and that would be in the prime of the summer weather, when the harvest was drawing nigh, and the school had its long yearly holiday. Summer, the harvest--“play,” and Linty!--oh, large bliss! my heart swells at the thought. They would be out for hours together, perhaps not far from home all the time--on the top of a hill it might be, whence Cosmo could see when he would the castle below. There, the whole sleepy afternoon, he would lie in the heather, with Linty, the mare, feeding amongst it, ready to come at his call, receive him on her back, and carry him where he would! But alas! though supple and active, Linty was old, and the day could not be distant when they must part company: she was then nine and twenty. And now--the night before, she had been taken ill: there was a disease about amongst the horses. The men had been up with her all night, and Grizzie too: she had fetched her own pillow to put under her head, then sat by her for hours. When Cosmo left, she was a little better, but great fears were entertained as to the possibility of her recovery. “She’s sae terrible aul’! ye see, sir,” said Cosmo, as he ended his tale of woe, and burst out crying afresh. “Cosmo,” said Mr. Simon,--and to a southern ear the issuing of such sweet solemn thoughts in such rough northern speech, might have seemed strange, though, to be sure, the vowels were finely sonorous if the consonants were harsh,--“Cosmo, your heart is faithful to your mare, but is it equally faithful to him that made your mare?” “I ken it’s his wull,” answered Cosmo:--his master never took notice whether he spoke in broad Scotch or bastard English--“I ken mears maun dee, but eh! _she_ was sic a guid ane!--Sir! I canna bide it.” “Ye ken wha sits by the deein’ sparrow?” said Mr. Simon, himself taking to the dialect. “Cosmo there was a better nor Grizzie, an’ nearer to Linty a’ the lang nicht. Things warna gangin’ sae ill wi’ her as ye thoucht. Life’s an awfu’ mystery, Cosmo, but it’s jist the ae thing the maker o’ ’t can haud nearest til, for it’s nearest til himsel’ i’ the mak o’ ’t.--Fowk may tell me,” he went on, more now as if he were talking to himself than to the boy, “’at I sud content mysel’ wi’ what I see an’ hear, an’ lat alane sic eeseless speculations! wi’ deein’ men an’ mears a’ aboot me, hoo can I! They’re onything but eeseless to me, for gien I had naething but what I see an’ hear, gran’ an’ bonny as a heap o’ ’t is, I wad jist smore for want o’ room.” “But what’s the guid o’ ’t a’, whan I’ll never see her again?” sobbed Cosmo. “Wha says sic a thing, laddie?” “A’ body,” answered Cosmo, a good deal astonished at the question.