THE WATCMAKER When he came down to breakfast, his father told him, to his delight, that he was going to Muir of Warlock, and would like him to go with him.

He ran like a hare up the waterside to let Mr.
Simon know, and was back by the time his father was ready.
It was a lovely day.

There would be plenty of cold and rough weather yet, but the winter was over and gone, and even to that late region of the north, the time of the singing of birds was come.

The air was soft, with streaks of cold in it.

The fields lay about all wet, but there was the sun above them, whose business it was to dry them.