“I shall be glad to hear the birds and see the places again. But I don’t remember the Ebba, or, indeed, any of the old places, except our own house and garden, and your mother’s cottage, Mrs Snow. I mind the last time we were there well.”
“I mind it, too,” said Mrs Snow, gravely.
“And yet, I should be almost sorry to go back again, lest I should have my ideas disturbed by finding places and people different from what I have been fancying them all this time. All those old scenes are so many lovely pictures to me, and it would be sad to go and find them less lovely than they seem to me now. I have read of such things,” said Graeme.
“I wouldna fear anything of that kind,” said Mrs Snow; “I mind them all so well.”
“Do you ever think you would like to go back again?” said Will. “Would not you like to see the old faces and the old places once more?”
“No, lad,” said Mrs Snow, emphatically. “I have no wish ever to go back.”
“You are afraid of the sea? But the steamers are very different from the old ‘Steadfast’.”
“I was not thinking of the sea, though I would dread that too. But why should I wish to go back? There are two or three places I would like to see the glen where my mother’s cottage stood, and two or three graves. And when I shut my eyes I can see them here. No, I have no wish to go back.”
There was a moment’s silence, and then Mrs Snow, turning her clear, kind eyes on her husband, over whose face a wistful, expostulating look was stealing, said,—
“I like to think about the dear faces, and the old places, sometimes, and to speak about them with the bairns; it is both sad and pleasant now and then. But I am quite content with all things as they are. I wouldna go back, and I wouldna change my lot if I might. I am quite content.”