"Oh yes; of course. I have taken the shooting for three years. It's a first-rate place. And so you would actually like to go back to Glen Eagle, Blanchie? Did you not find it very dull sometimes away among the hills—confess now?"
"Oh no, papa; indeed I didn't find it dull—not near so dull as here. I don't see how I could ever feel dull at Glen Eagle," said Blanche, decidedly; and then she added, "Well, perhaps if Kirsty and Morag were both away from the Glen, and Shag could not be found to ride about on, then it might be rather sad; because, you see, the fir-wood and all the other places would remind me of them. It would be too sad to see the hut without Morag living there," said Blanche, dreamily, as she thought of the empty room which she saw on the morning she left the Glen, and of how eagerly she had searched for her missing friend. "And how Kirsty's cottage would look without her, I cannot imagine. But do you know, papa, I actually dreamt last night that I went to see her, and she was not to be found, and her old arm-chair was empty,—and the nice, cheery fire cold and black. It was so nice to wake and find it was only a dream, after all!" added Blanche, with a sigh of relief.
"Well, I don't think either of your friends have migratory habits; so you are likely to find them among their native heather next year. By the way, Blanchie, you must send a Christmas box of presents to your friends there. You may fill it with whatever you like best; but only do keep a corner for me. I want to send some present to the boy who fished you out of the loch—Kenneth—isn't that his name? Do you remember that adventure, and how you frightened us all, you troublesome young person? By the way, I arranged before I left Glen Eagle that Dingwall is to train the boy for a gamekeeper,—seeing that appears to be what he has set his heart on."
Before many minutes had elapsed, Blanche's lively imagination had filled a box of such probable dimensions that her father laughingly assured her it would be much too heavy to be carried up the hill to the little shieling among the crags.
Presently the little girl fell into one of her meditative moods, saying at last, with a sigh, "Well, papa, I daresay Morag and Kirsty will be very pleased to get the box of things, and think it very kind—and all that; but though Kirsty and Morag are so poor, I really do not think they ever seem to be anxious for anything they have not got. I was just remembering how Kirsty one day said to me, in that nice, queer accent of hers, 'Bairn,'—she often called me that—'a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things he has.' I can't remember exactly what we were talking about at the time."
"Upon my word she must be quite a philosopher, this wonderful Kirsty!" said Mr. Clifford, laughingly, as he stroked Blanche's curls.
"No, papa; I don't fancy she is learned enough for that; but I am sure she is a Christian,—and is that not better, papa?"
"Ah, I'm afraid we are getting beyond our depth now, pussy. Come, little kittens should not look grave," he added, for Blanche had a dreamy look in her eyes which he did not care to see.
She was thinking of the poor fairy who was so greedy as well as so needy; and presently she began to tell her papa a little about her, and how she had gone to see her in her wretched home. She told him, too, that she was making a dress for her—really of her own sewing; and, taking for granted that her papa would be much interested in the garment, she brought it for his inspection. But she did not tell him why she was so very anxious to make it for her, nor that it was meant to be, perhaps, the first token recognized by the poor fairy's dark soul of that Love which "passeth knowledge."
The father and daughter spent some very happy hours together on this first evening of their reunion. And as Mr. Clifford walked up and down the drawing-room, after Blanche had left for the night, his thoughts dwelt with a new joy and hope on the only child of his house, whose birth had left his home so desolate. He remembered with what a sad heart he took for the first time the motherless babe into his arms, and what a sorrowful welcome he could only give to her. And now he thought with pride of what a sweet child-woman she had grown, how much she seemed to have deepened lately, and what a beautiful woman she promised to be! Mr. Clifford smiled to think of the time when her school-room days would be at an end, and she would make her entrance into society to be his companion; and he felt as if life were opening pleasanter vistas before his eyes than it had done for many a day.