That was the very last word he ever uttered concerning the dream that had just been destroyed. And it was only about this time, I think, that we began to recognise the simple, large, noble nature of this man. We had been too much inclined to regard the mere husks and externals of his character—to laugh at his assumption of parochial importance, his solemn discussions of the Semple case, his idiotic stories about Homesh. And it was not a mere freak of generosity that revealed to us something of the finer nature of this old Scotchman. People as rich as he have often paid bigger sums than 10,300*l.* for the furtherance of a hobby. But it was to put away his hobby—it was to destroy for ever the "dream of his old age"—that he had been thus munificent towards this girl. And there was no complaint or regret. He had told us it was time for him to put away childish things. And this was the last word said—"My lass, I would rather have seen you at Denny-mains." The Laird was exceedingly facetious at this breakfast-party, and his nephew had a bad time of it. There were mysterious questions about Messrs. Hughes, Barnes, and Barnes; as to whether consultations were best held in stubble or in turnips; or whether No. 5 shot was the best for bringing down briefs; and so forth. "Never mind, uncle," said the Youth good-naturedly. "I will send you some partridges for the larder of the yacht." "You need not do anything of the kind," said the Laird; "before you are in Bedfordshire the _White Dove_ will be many a mile away from the course of luggage steamers." "Oh, are you ready to start, then, sir?" said his hostess. "This very meenute, if it pleases you," said he. She looked rather alarmed, but said nothing. In the meantime the waggonette had come to the door. By and by there was a small party assembled on the steps to see the Youth drive off. And now the time had come for him to make that speech of thanks which his uncle had pointed out was distinctly due from him. The Laird, indeed, regarded his departure with a critical air; and no doubt waited to see how his nephew would acquit himself. Perhaps the Youth had forgotten. At all events, having bidden good-bye to the others, he shook hands last of all with his hostess, and said lightly— "Thank you very much. I have enjoyed the whole thing tremendously." Then he jumped into the waggonette, and took off his cap as a parting salute; and away he went. The Laird frowned. When he was a young man that was not the way in which hospitality was acknowledged. Then Mary Avon turned from regarding the departing waggonette. "Are we to get ready to start?" said she. "What do you say, sir?" asks the hostess of the Laird. "I am at your service," he replies.