'One tree, growing all by itself. Poor thing, how lonely it must be!'

The old man looked at her curiously.

'That's an odd way to look at it. Who ever heard of a tree being lonely?
You have a great many queer fancies, but they won't flourish here.
Glasgow is given up to business; it has no time for foolish fancies.'

Gladys gravely nodded.

'Papa told me so. Is it very far to Ayrshire, Uncle Abel?'

The old man gave a quick start.

'To Ayrshire! What makes you ask the question? What has put such a thing
into your head?'

'Papa spoke of it so often, of that beautiful village where you and he
were born. He was so sorry I could not pronounce it right, Mauchline.'

As that sweet voice, with its pretty English accent, uttered the
familiar name, again a strange thrill visited the old man's withered
heart.

'No, you don't say it right. But I wonder that he spoke of it so much;
we were poor enough there, herd boys in the fields. We couldn't well
have a humbler origin, eh?'

'But it was a beautiful life--papa said so--among the fields and trees,