The younger man stopped beside him, settled down upon the bank,
and gazed with the elder into the ocean of colored air.
"Ae gowden floor as though it were glass," said Jarvis Barrow. "Ae
gowden floor and ae river named of Life, passing the greatness of
Orinoco or Amazon. And the tree of life for the healing of the
nations. And a' the trees that ever leafed or flowered, ta'en
together, but ae withered twig to that!"
Glenfernie gazed with him. "I do not doubt that there will come a day
when we'll walk over the plains of the sun--the flesh of our body then
as gauze, moved at will where we please and swift as thought--inner
and outer motion keeping time with the beat and rhythm of that _where
we are_--"
"The young do not speak the auld tongue."
"Tongues alter with the rest."
Silence fell while the sun reddened, going nearer to the mountain
brow. The young man and the old, the farmer and the laird, sat still.
The air struck more freshly, stronger, coming from the sea. Far off a
horn was blown, a dog barked.
"Will ye be hame now for gude, Glenfernie? Lairds should bide in their
ain houses if the land is to have any gude of them."
"I wish to stay, White Farm, the greatest part of the year round. I
want to speak to you very seriously. Think back a moment to my father
and mother, and to my forebears farther back yet.
Pages:
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123