“I remember, I remember
The fir-trees dark and high,
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky.
“It was a childish ignorance,
But now ’tis little joy
To know I’m farther off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.”
Hood.
Scene: Glen Lyle in spring time. The larch trees already green and tasselled with crimson buds. The woods alive with the song of birds. The rooks busy at work on the tall, swaying elm trees. Two young men approaching Grayling House, arm in arm.
It was early on this spring morning, not long past eight of the clock. Douglas and Leonard had stayed at a little inn some eight miles distant on the night before, and started with the larks to march homewards, for even Douglas looked upon Glen Lyle as his home.
As they neared the well-known gate, Leonard became silent. Thoughts of his happy boyhood’s days crowded fresh and fast into his memory. Every bush and every tree brought up some sad yet pleasant reminiscence of days gone by—sad, because those old, old days were gone never to return.
“Come, old boy,” said Douglas cheerfully. “Aren’t you glad to be so near home?”
They were at the gate now.
“Glad,” said Leonard, yet strangely moved. “Douglas, what means all this? See, the walks are green, the blinds are mostly down. Only from one chimney does smoke issue. Oh, my friend! I fear something is wrong. I never thought my heart could beat so! But see, yonder comes old Peter himself.”
And down the path indeed the ancient servitor came shuffling.
His very first words reassured poor Leonard.
“The Lord be praised for a’ His mercy! Hoo pleased your father and mother and Effie will be!”