The lovers that met on the commonty in the gloaming are gone, but there are other lovers to take their place, and still the commonty is here.

The sun had sunk on a fine day in June, early in the century, when Hendry and Jess, newly married, he in a rich moleskin waistcoat, she in a white net cap, walked to the house on the brae that was to be their home.

So Jess has told me.

Here again has been just such a day, and somewhere in Thrums there may be just such a couple, setting out for their home behind a horse with white ears instead of walking, but with the same hopes and fears, and the same love light in their eyes.

The world does not age.