Then Kenneth would bend his calm inquiring eyes on theirs, and wonder what like this mother was; for he had never known any other parent than the mother of Lily. Though their chance companion, Halbert Gordon (a dark-eyed and black-haired boy), was a model of strength and health, he was neither stronger nor healthier than Kenneth, but was more rash, proud, passionate and resentful, than any boy in Croinar; and, as he rose in years, those troublesome propensities waxed strong within him, and grew with his growth. When his haughty mother, or Jock of the Cleugh, desired him to finish his prayers by a malediction on "all obstinate heretics," he always made a mental reservation in favour of his secret friends at the Forest—fair Lily Donaldson, and her quiet cousin, Kenneth Logie.
Now it happens that the little people of this world will have their little love dreams, as well as those who consider themselves men and women, but are only grown children after all; and thus a secret sympathy expanded in the hearts of little Kenneth and his pretty cousin—a sympathy which Lily's mother (who loved her dead sister's son as if he were her own) left nothing undone to fasten: and it strengthened fast this charming and childish love.
They were ever together, and were never known to quarrel. In that lonely pastoral district, all their amusements and objects were centred in each other; for save the dark, sullen boy of the moated Tower, they knew no other companion, and even he was known to them only by stealth.
Kenneth had no secrets from Lily, and Lily knew neither wish nor hope, a sorrow or a joy, in which "cousin Kenneth" did not participate. They seemed to have but one heart between them. The garden of the Place, with its closely clipped and gigantic yew hedges bordering grass walks (in the Scoto-French fashion), the fish-pond and the terraces, were the boundaries of the Eden they inhabited.
They knew of no land that lay beyond the blue hills of Strathdon, which seemed to them the verge of the habitable world. They indulged in visions, and what little people do not? Lily saw herself a great lady riding on a white palfrey, whose footcloth swept the ground; Kenneth saw himself the provost of a city—the general of an army—the laird of a noble barony—a belted earl, addressing the three estates in defence of the church, the laws, and liberties of Scotland. These airy castles faded away at nightfall, but were as brilliantly rebuilt in a thousand happy forms at their meetings next day. They were ever together, as we have said, and year after year, as it passed over their fair young brows, found them still wreathed with smiles.
The old lady of the Forest and the Lea, when she saw their curly heads nestling in the same plaid, would often bless them, and say,—
"My puir bairns, ye were just made for ilk ither!"
And the old servitors of the Place loved to call them their "young laird and leddy—man and wife," and were wont to foretell that one day they would become so.
Then the little pair looked with wonder into each other's bright eyes, marvelling what "man and wife" meant, but resolving that, whatever it did mean, they would not and could not love each other the less, or be less happy than they were; but would still hunt bees and butterflies, gather hare and heather bells, and make little chapels and houses in the green haughs, when the hawthorn bloomed in summer.
The round of their pleasures was small, and the little chapel—nathless the Reformation—was still a favourite amusement with the children of Scotland, as it is now with those of continental countries. Thus, a mimic altar was set up, with a cross and candles thereon; a circle of stones formed its precinct; Halbert Gordon was the officiating priest, and little Lily his whole congregation, and very devout she was; but without the circle of this baby chapel Kenneth Logie would stand doubtfully aloof, for his aunt and grim Master Jowlar had taught him to abhor such things, and, less compliant than the gentle Lily, he dreaded Catholicism as burned children dread the fire.