The old farmhouse has stood in this secluded spot for many hundreds of years, and its low ceilings, oak panelling, heavy wooden beams, deep chimney corners, and carved cupboards are all relics of the days of long ago.
When Marjorie left the farm, she crossed the little bridge over the stream running into the mountain tarn, and as she did so, she noticed that growing by the edge of the water was a quantity of large blue forget-me-not. She climbed down the bank to the water and gathered the blue flowers, and then sat down on the grass to pull off the wet roots which had come up as she plucked it, and to arrange the flowers in her basket above the eggs.
As she did so, sitting by the side of the rushing brook and hearing nothing but its noisy babbling, she was startled by feeling something bounce against her arm. It was a large white collie, which had come bounding down the steep bank, and which now lay down beside her, putting its paws on her knees.
"O you beauty, you lovely fellow!" said Marjorie, as she stroked the dog's head. "Where have you come from, and whose dog are you?"
She was not left long in doubt on this point, for the dog's master was close at hand. She heard a voice behind her, a voice she knew well.
"Miss Douglas, I've found you at last."
"Captain Fortescue! How did you know I was here?"
"I called at Fernbank, and Mrs. Douglas told me you had come up the hill, so Laddie and I came in search of you."
He climbed down the bank and took her hand in his.
A piece of forget-me-not fell at his feet as Marjorie got up to speak to him. He picked it up and asked, "Is it for me?"