"I remember, I remember
The fir-trees dark and high,
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky.
"It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from heaven
Than when I was a boy."
Hood.
Scene: Glen Lyle in spring time. The larch trees already green and
tasselled with crimson buds. The woods alive with the song of birds.
The rooks busy at work on the tall, swaying elm trees. Two young men
approaching Grayling House, arm in arm.
It was early on this spring morning, not long past eight of the clock.
Douglas and Leonard had stayed at a little inn some eight miles distant
on the night before, and started with the larks to march homewards, for
even Douglas looked upon Glen Lyle as his home.
As they neared the well-known gate, Leonard became silent. Thoughts of
his happy boyhood's days crowded fresh and fast into his memory. Every
bush and every tree brought up some sad yet pleasant reminiscence of
days gone by--sad, because those old, old days were gone never to
return.
"Come, old boy," said Douglas cheerfully. "Aren't you glad to be so
near home?"
They were at the gate now.
"Glad," said Leonard, yet strangely moved. "Douglas, what means all
this? See, the walks are green, the blinds are mostly down. Only from
one chimney does smoke issue. Oh, my friend! I fear something is
wrong. I never thought my heart could beat so! But see, yonder comes
old Peter himself."
And down the path indeed the ancient servitor came shuffling.
His very first words reassured poor Leonard.
"The Lord be praised for a' His mercy! Hoo pleased your father and
mother and Effie will be!"
The joy-blood came bounding back to Leonard's heart. He returned the
ardent pressure of Peter's hands.
"Oh!" cried Peter, "I want to do naething else noo but just lie doon and
dee."
"Don't talk of dying, my dear Peter. Where are they?"