"And a fine village this is—the scene of my ancestor's home! Do you live here, my lad?"
"Ay, Sandy, and not far from old Rob Roy Brig."
"Well, well," sighed Sandy. "And could we bide a wee on the old brig of my ancestor while Sandy rests?"
"Ay, could we," said Ian with great delight, "and I can pull your cart for you, Sandy, until we get there."
Gratefully the old man allowed the boy to pull his load, while he stretched his tired arms. He breathed in the sweet-smelling air of the village of his ancestor.
When they came to the bridge, Ian put down the cart. He invited Sandy to sit beside him on the wall, his usual perch. The old man jumped up to the boy's side, as spry as the boy himself, and looked around.
"Well, well," he said, "and to think 'tis Sandy's first visit to the home of his ancestor—Sandy who has been nigh all over the land!"
At these words Ian's heart gave a bound, and he said, "Have you seen nigh all of bonny Scotland, Sandy?"