“The wee short hoor ayont the twal’.”
I never saw a happier young fellow than Miguel was at this time, however.
Nor did he hesitate a moment to tell me the cause of his happiness.
He was very much in love with his sweet little cousin Mina; and she, he said, with him. He had the half of a sixpenny piece, which he had broken with her before leaving, sewn up into a blue ribbon she had given him, and which he wore next his heart.
One of his favourite songs was that sweetest of lilts (which even Jenny Lind loved so), “Logie o’ Buchan.” And perhaps the dearest lines to him in all the song were these:—
“He had but ae saxpence, he broke it in twa,
And gave me the half o’t ere he gaed awa’,
Sayin’, ‘Think na lang, lassie, tho’ I gang awa’—
think na lang, lassie, tho’ I gang awa’;
For summer is comin’, cauld winter’s awa’,
And I’ll come and see you in spite o’ them a’.’”
Ah! youth’s dreams of love and of the future are delightful beyond compare, and dazzlingly beautiful as the summer’s sunrise. Pity that the orange and crimson clouds do not last all day long; then indeed would life be worth living.
But poor Miguel looked forward to a handsome country church and a handsome manse in some romantic part of the country, where quiet and joy should ever dwell, and the presiding geniuses of which should be his dear old mother and Mina herself. No wonder he was so inexpressibly happy; that like birds in spring-time he was singing all day long, even while wielding pick and spade.
Poor Miguel! would his dreams or ours turn out to be true?
Our two excavators were strong young fellows, only one of whom, however, possessed much sense. This was George Winkey (this is not his real name). I somehow think that from the very first George smelt a rat.