“I fear not.”
“Well?”
“Well, the glens and hills all around are planted with trees. This was done as soon as Mr Steve took possession of the estate, and before poor old Chief McGregor died.”
“He is dead, then?”
“Yes. I would have told you, but I wanted to make my letters to you as bright as possible.”
“So the dear old man is dead. Heigho! And the estate planted. You did not even tell me that.”
“No, and for the same reason. But the trees are getting quite tall already. Most of the higher parts of the glens are covered with Scotch firs and spruces and larches, the lower lands with elm and plane and scrubby oaks. At the risk of being taken as a trespasser, I went all over the estate. I penetrated up to the fairy knoll and saw poor Kooran’s grave. There are young trees all round there now.”
“Archie,” said Kenneth, leaning forward and peering into his companion’s face, “I hope they didn’t interfere with poor Kooran’s grave.”
“No, nor with anything around it.”
“Go on, lad; I’m so pleased.”