“But—” said Archie.
“Not a single excuse, my boy. I am home-sick now. Answer a few questions, and I’ll let you off.”
“Well, go on,” said Archie; “ask away.”
“My dear, dear mother! Have you seen her grave lately?”
“It was the last spot I visited when I went to the clachan,” replied Archie sadly.
“Heigho!” sighed Kenneth. “And I was all ready to go home. We were lying at the Cape, if you remember, when your letter arrived. Yes, and I left my ship, I threw up a good appointment on receipt of the sad intelligence; and Archie, dear lad, I shall go back to Scotland when I make my fortune—not before, and that may be never.”
“Do not speak like that.”
“But I must and will. How changed everything must be from the time I kept the sheep among the hills. And how do the clachan, the glen, and the hills look now?”
“The clachan is but little changed. Mr Steve did not tear down the village and church, as he first threatened. No, the clachan is the same, but poor Mr Grant has gone.”
“Dead! You did not tell me this in your letter.”