"I like it."
"I suppose you miss grandeurs abune what ye've got there. I have a liking myself," said Greenlaw, "for grandeurs, though we've none at all at Littlefarm! That is to say, none that's just obvious. Are you going to White Farm?"
Alexander answered: "I've a message from my father for Mr. Barrow. But after that we're going through the glen. Will you come along?"
"I would," said Greenlaw, seriously, "if I had not on my best. But I know how you, Alexander Jardine, take the devil's counsel about setting foot in places bad for good clothes! So I'll give myself the pleasure some other time. And so good day!" He turned into a path that took him presently out of sight and sound.
"He's a fine one!" said Alexander. "I like him."
"Who is he?"
"White Farm's great-nephew. Littlefarm was parted from White Farm. It's over yonder where you see the water shining."
"He's free-mannered enough!"
"That's you and England! He's got as good a pedigree as any, and a notion of what's a man, besides. He's been to Glasgow to school, too. I like folk like that."
"I like them as well as you!" said Ian. "That is, with reservations of them I cannot like. I'm Scots, too."