“I hardly knew you,—you have grown so bonny,” said Robert, gravely. Lilias laughed.
“Come into the manse, and you will see your young friends without interruption,” said kind Mrs Graham. “Come, Archie.”
And so they passed a pleasant hour in the manse garden. The Gordons had come to pass their summer holidays with their cousins; and they would often come over the hills to see her, they said. They had a very pleasant time sitting on the grass in the shadow of the fir-trees. Even young John Graham, as he paced up and down the walk with a book in his hand, condescended to show a little curiosity as to the subject of their conversation, so earnest did their tones become at last; and John Graham was a college student, and a miracle of wisdom in his sister’s eyes. He wondered if it was all “Sabbath talk” that engrossed them so much; and his wonder changed to serious doubts, as his little sister Jessie’s voice rose above the voices of all the rest.
But wise John was mistaken this time. The subject that engrossed them so much was at the same moment engrossing good James Muir and his brother elders on the other side of the kirk-yard wall. It was the sermon and the minister they were discussing.
Jessie was eloquent on the subject. Of course there never was such a preacher as her grandfather,—not even the great Dr Chalmers himself, the child declared; and all the rest agreed. Even Robert Gordon, whose taste, if the truth must be told, did not lie at all in the direction of sermons, declared that he had not been very weary that day in the kirk. Jessie looked a good deal scandalised at this faint praise; but it was much from Master Robert, if she had but known all.
Then the question was started whether John would ever preach as well; and John had to pay the usual penalty of listeners, for all agreed that this was not to be thought of, at least, not for a long time to come.
This was the beginning of more frequent intercourse between Lilias and Archie and the manse children. Lilias was not often with them at first, for the “harvest-play” of the village children did not come so soon as the town-boys’ holidays, and she could seldom be prevailed upon to leave her aunt alone in the school. But Archie’s company soon became indispensable to the lads in their daily rambles among the hills. He had explored the country to some purpose; and not even the manse boys knew so many places of interest as he did, and he was often their leader in their long excursions.
It was a point of honour with Archie never to confess that he was tired while he could stand; and it was only a fortunate chance that prevented these long-continued wanderings from being an injury to him. They went one day to the top of the highest hill in the neighbourhood. Archie, as usual, led the way; and they had got well on their return, when he was obliged to confess to himself (though not to his companions) that he could go no farther.
They had just left the hills, and stood on the turnpike-road between Dunmoor and Kirklands, the other lads to go to the manse, and Archie to go home, a good two miles away yet. It seemed to him that he never could go so far; and, only waiting till the other lads were out of sight, he threw himself down on the grass at the roadside, utterly exhausted. The sound of wheels startled him in a little time, and soon John Graham, in the manse gig, made his appearance. He drew up at the sight of Archie, and, in some surprise, asked him what ailed him.
“Nothing,” said Archie, rising painfully. “We have been at the head of the Colla Hill; and I’m afraid I’m tired: that’s all.”