'I have my reasons, Gladys. You will know them, perhaps, sooner than you think.'
'Is it a long journey, uncle? I am so afraid for you. Let me shut the window up quite. And are we really, really going into Ayrshire at last?'
She was full of excitement as a child. She sat close to the window, and when the train had left the city behind, looked out with eagerest interest on the wintry landscape.
'Oh, Uncle Abel, it is so beautiful to see it, the wide country, and the sky above it so clear and lovely. Oh, there is room to breathe!'
'I am sure it looks wintry and bleak enough,' the old man answered, with a grunt. 'I don't see much beauty in it myself.'
'How strange! To me it is wholly beautiful. Is this Ayrshire yet? Tell me when we come to Ayrshire.'
A slow smile was on the old man's face as he looked and listened. He enjoyed her young enthusiasm, but it seemed to awaken in him some sadder thought, for once he sighed heavily, and drew himself together as if he felt cold, or some bitter memory smote him.
In little more than an hour the train drew up at the quiet country station, and Gladys was told they had reached their journey's end. It was a lovely spring morning; the sun shone out cheerfully from a mild, bright sky, the air was laden with the awakening odours of spring, and the spirit of life seemed to be everywhere.
'Now, my girl, we have a great deal to do to-day,' said the old man, when they had crossed the footbridge. 'What do you want most to see here?'
'Mossgiel and Ballochmyle, and the house where you lived in Mauchline.'