"What says thy song, thou joyous thrush,
Up in the walnut tree?"
"I love my Love, because I know
My Love loves me."
A little sadly they entered the parlor, but the blazing fire threw warm gleams on the handsomely set table; and the tempting odors of young hyson, fresh bread, and a rook pie filled the room. Involuntarily everyone smiled and sat down gladly to the dainty, delicate food before them; and Dr. Macrae said to his friend:
"Life is full of emotions. Such a variety of them, too!"
"And all good—or, at least, pretty much so. A rook pie! That is a luxury indeed! I suppose there is a rookery at Cramer."
"A very ancient and a very large one," answered Dr. Macrae, and he recognized in his own voice and manner that slight sense of proprietorship which flavors a coming good. He was ashamed of it, and made some foolish remark about the rooks being a present. "The birds are not in the market," he said, "and, if they were, a poor minister could not buy them."
"You are a fortunate man. The country is full of blessings. I wish I lived in the country. You must like it, Macrae."
"I am of Touchstone's opinion—in respect that it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but, in respect that it is not in the city, it is tedious. That reminds me, we shall leave for the city early in the morning."
"Not too early, I hope?"
"About ten o'clock."
"That will do very well."