Part 19

Kenneth Macpherson, Kirsty's grandson, reigned over the realms of deer and moor-fowl in the Glen now; and the keeper's daughter had become the keeper's wife.

Their home was the loveliest spot in all the strath--a pleasant, light, airy, well-built cottage, placed at a sunny angle of the pine forest, which protected it from the cold north winds when they swept along the Glen.

Firwood Neuk, for so it had been called by its owners, possessed every pretty and useful accessory, within and without, which peasant life could require. It was quite a model homestead, with its wealthy barn-yard and farmstead, and its pretty productive garden--the last earthly gift of a little vanished hand, which had dropped its earthly treasures as she used to do her wild flowers in these woods long ago, when anything more precious came in sight.

Mr. Clifford never came to shoot in Glen Eagle again; but, nevertheless, he was more than faithful to the wishes of his child, and Blanche's friends lacked for nothing which money could supply--humbly and gratefully accepted by these proud Highland spirits as the benefaction of the gracious child who had loved them all so well.

Often, indeed, Mr. Clifford had been tempted, during the earlier years, to go beyond his daughter's wishes when he noticed Morag's insatiable thirst for knowledge: to take her from her quiet haunts, and bring art and culture to aid in her training. But he called to mind Blanche's wise decision, and left the child of the mountains to her "lowlier, more unlettered fate."

Still, Morag's intellectual cravings were not unprovided for. In one of the rooms of her pleasant home there stood a pretty book-case filled with rows of shining books--another memorial of Blanche's love. And, among the handsome bindings, there were interspersed certain old, worn books, which were very dear to Morag's heart, for had they not been taken from the depths of the old _kist?_--and stood there, among the newer volumes, like ancient historical monuments surrounded by pretty modern villas.

* * * * *

It was the twelfth of August, and the keeper's wife stood waiting in the gloaming for her husband, who had not yet returned from the moors.

The work of the day was done, and the children safely folded for the night,--for there were young voices again re-echoing through the forest, and little feet toddling among the brown fir-needles.

Her husband was not yet in sight, so presently Morag wandered into the fir-wood, where the great aisles of pine reared themselves calm and stately as of old.

Leaning against one of the old red firs, which seemed written over with many memories to her, she called to mind one August day long ago. And as she stood gazing dreamily there, she seemed to see again the lovely, singing child, coming like a happy fate towards the desolate little maiden who leant there on that bright morning, to hear again the "glad tidings of great joy" borne unconsciously by the silvery voice to a listening ear and waiting soul, and to feel the soft, sisterly touch of the little fluttering hand that sent glow and warmth to a heart which, but for that touch of human sympathy, might have turned to stone.

Morag had seen many gentle ladies, old and young, since these autumn days long ago. The solitary Glen had got into guide-books now, and every year brought many strangers to roam among its woods and hills; but never could any other dwell in her memory as Blanche Clifford did--never, she thought, could she see "her like again!"

Many a year had come and gone since that memorable twelfth of August, when the southern guests came to seek their pleasure among the moors of Glen Eagle. Silver lines were visible on Morag's once raven black locks, and her step was slower than it used to be, as she sauntered through the old red fir-trees, which were all aglow in the sunset.

With a sigh of weariness she at last seated herself on a gray, lichen-spotted dyke which skirted the forest.

"Ay! and she'll aye be young, though I'm growin' auld," she murmured, for she still retained her ancient habit of speaking her thoughts aloud, acquired in her solitary childhood.

Leaning her head upon her hand, she sat watching the sun as it sank behind the old castle of Glen Eagle.

* * * * *

The amber clouds were hovering round the dying sun, like ponderous gates ready to close on the inner vistas of gold and crimson. Morag sat gazing with glistening eyes at the cloud-land scene; she well knew that "richest tenderest glow" which lingers round the autumnal sun, and always loved to watch it.

"But there sight fails; no heart may know _The bliss when life is done._"

"It's growin' cauld and mirk, and I maun be goin' home," murmured Morag, as she rose to go down the hill, when all had faded into grey twilight. Then she added, softly: "She liket weel to see the sun gae doun amang oor hills; an' it aye min's me upo' her. Bonnie wee leddy! 'Thy sun shall no more go down, neither shall thy moon withdraw its shining, for the Lord is thine everlasting light, and thy God thy glory.'"

Stereotyped by MCCREA & Co., Newburgh, N. Y.

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Transcriber's note:

Variable or unusal spelling and hyphenation have been retained apart from minor punctuation inconsistencies, which have been silently corrected. The changes made are shown below. The first line indicates the original, the second the correction.

p. 29: He was tall and spare and agile-look-looking He was tall and spare and agile-looking

p. 163: A tarpauling was thrown over them A tarpaulin was thrown over them

p. 213: in the direc- of in the direction of

p. 269: the things I want him too look at the things I want him to look at

p. 230: Kirsty's calm, wopshipping face Kirsty's calm, worshipping face

p 309: as the most delightful optunity as the most delightful opportunity

p. 372: acquired n her solitary childhood acquired in her solitary childhood