Robin was quite overcome; he could hardly trust his voice to reply. He stepped quickly from the door, said a last good-by, and drove away, not venturing to look back.
Separation from friends is often less felt by those who go out into the world than by those who remain at home. It was so in this case. Robin met Geordie McKay, as had been arranged, and the two young men set out together. Their minds were diverted by new scenes and bright anticipations; but it was not so at home. Annie McPherson gathered up every article that had been her son's, and laid them all away with tender touches, as if handling the relics of the dead. Many a sigh escaped her motherly bosom, and the very things he had often left in her way, and on account of which she had found fault with him, were now gently lifted, and invested almost with sacredness. All missed him as well as the mother. The father was unusually busy in order to divert his mind; the grandfather took his cane and walked far beyond the out-buildings—a thing he had not done for many a day; the grandmother lay down for her accustomed nap, but soon returned unrefreshed to her chair. "I canna sleep the day," she said. When evening came and all the household gathered around the hearth, Robin was their theme, and day after day the missing link of the family chain was held in remembrance and mentioned with tenderness.
When, however, there came a letter stating that he had arrived safely in New York, they felt relieved and comforted. He had written that he should start immediately for the broad West, to secure a home amid its fertile lands. And when he wrote that he and Geordie had each taken a homestead for almost nothing, and were living alone in a little log-cabin, and reported how easily they turned the soil, that there were no stones, that the climate was delightful, and that abundance of game could be had for the taking—those left at home began to think better of the venture. "Maybe," said they, "it wasna a fulish notion after a'."
Robin had indeed, in good earnest, set about making a home; but the second part of his vaunt, a wife to keep it, seemed less likely to be accomplished.
"Lassies are but few here," said Geordie. "I doot if ye find ane to suit your notion for a lang while, Robin."
"I wouldna want ane to come to this place just now," replied Robin. "I must first get my farm in good condition, and save my siller and build a house; then I would have a better chance wi' the lassies."
Geordie McKay was no whit behind Robin in industry and thrift. Both worked early and late. In a few years they had well-cultivated farms, horses and cattle, and each a very good house. Having prepared their cages, they were not long in finding birds to occupy them. A neighboring farmer who had two grown daughters soon became father-in-law to the two thrifty Scotchmen. Thus in the midst of abundance such as they had never seen in the old world did these two young men pass their days in cheerful labor, looking forward to the possibilities of the future, and glad that they had left a narrow world, too old to change its ways. Many a time, when venison, prairie-chicken, or a rabbit steamed on their well-supplied tables, did the circumstance of the stolen hare present itself to their memory, and Geordie thought of his pale, pinched mother, whose wants could not always be supplied.
Often did they talk of home, of bonny Scotland, and the friends they left behind them. Robin dearly loved his kindred across the water; and when he received tidings of the death of his grandfather, and afterwards of his grandmother, he sighed that he should have no more kindly messages from these aged relatives. He often wondered what his parents would say if they could see the great country in which he had chosen a home.
In his letters he pictured his surroundings in glowing colors. These letters were eagerly read and their contents told over. They fell on the ears of one more interested than the others, and that one was Davie Murdoch's Jamie. He knew that his parents would not care to have him feel any special interest in that subject, so he concealed his thoughts for a time, but they were like a smouldering fire in his bosom.