The laird of Glenfernie, who had walked to the
Kelpie's Pool, now came down the glen. Mother Binning was yet in her
cot, though an older woman now and somewhat broken.
"Oh aye, my bonny man! All things die and all things live. To and fro
gaes the shuttle!"
Glenfernie sat on the door-stone. She took all the news he could
bring, and had her own questions to put.
"How's the house and all in it?"
"Well."
"Ye've got a bonny sister! Whom will she marry? There's Abercrombie
and Fleming and Ferguson."
"I do not know. The one she likes the best."
"And when will ye be marrying yourself?"
"I am not going to marry, Mother. I would marry Wisdom, if I could!"
"Hoot! she stays single! Do ye love the hunt of Wisdom so?"
"Aye, I do. But it's a long, long chase--and to tell you the truth, at
times I think she's just a wraith! And at times I am lazy and would
just sit in the sun and be a fool."
"Like to-day?"
"Like to-day. And so," said Alexander, rising, "as I feel that way,
I'll e'en be going on!"
"I'm thinking that maist of the wise have inner tokens by which they
ken the fule. I was ne'er afraid of folly," said Mother Binning. "It's
good growing stuff!"
Glenfernie laughed and left her and the drone of her wheel. A clucking
hen and her brood, the cot and its ash-tree, sank from sight. A little
longer and he reached the middle glen where the banks approached and
the full stream rushed with a manifold sound.
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