And a' the trees that ever leafed or flowered, ta'en together, but ae withered twig to that!" Glenfernie gazed with him.

"I do not doubt that there will come a day when we'll walk over the plains of the sun--the flesh of our body then as gauze, moved at will where we please and swift as thought--inner and outer motion keeping time with the beat and rhythm of that _where we are_--" "The young do not speak the auld tongue." "Tongues alter with the rest." Silence fell while the sun reddened, going nearer to the mountain brow.

The young man and the old, the farmer and the laird, sat still.
The air struck more freshly, stronger, coming from the sea.

Far off a horn was blown, a dog barked.
"Will ye be hame now for gude, Glenfernie?
Lairds should bide in their ain houses if the land is to have any gude of them." "I wish to stay, White Farm, the greatest part of the year round.

I want to speak to you very seriously.