places. You must wrestle bravely,
you're so strong in the shoulder and long in the arm!"

"You're not so big, but you look strong yourself."

Each measured the other with his eyes. Friendship was already here. It
was as though hand had fitted into glove.

"What is your dog named?"

"Hector."

"Mine's Bran. You come to Glenfernie to-morrow and I'll show you a
place that's all mine. It's the room in the old keep. I've books there
and apples and nuts and curiosities. There's a big fireplace, and my
father's let me build a furnace besides, and I've kettles and
crucibles and pans and vials--"

"What for?"

Alexander paused and gazed at Ian, then gave into his keeping the
great secret. "Alchemy. I'm trying to change lead into gold."

Ian thrilled. "I'll come! I'll ride over. I've a beautiful mare."

"It's not eight miles--"

"I'll come. We're just in at Black Hill, you see, and I've had no time
to make a place like that! But I'll show you my room. Here's the park
gate."

They walked up an avenue overarched by elms, to a house old but not so
old, once half-ruinous, but now mended and being mended, enlarged, and
decorated, the aim a spacious place alike venerable and modern.
Workmen yet swarmed about it. The whole presented a busy, cheerful
aspect--a gracious one, also, for under a monster elm before the
terrace was found the master and owner, Mr. Archibald Touris. He
greeted the youths with a manner meant to exhibit the expansive heart
of a country gentleman.

"You've found each other out, have you? Why, you look born to be
friends! That's as it should be.--And what, Alexander, do you think of
Black Hill?"

"It looks finely a rich man's place, sir."

Mr. Touris laughed at his country bluntness, but did not take the
tribute amiss. "Not so rich--not so mighty rich. But enough, enough!
If Ian here behaves himself he'll have enough!" A master workman
called him away. He went with a large wave of the hand. "Make yourself
at home, Alexander! Take him, Ian, to see your aunt Alison." He was
gone with the workman.

"I'll take you there presently," said Ian. "I'm fond of Aunt
Alison--you'll like her, too--but she'll keep. Let's go see my mare
Fatima, and then my room."

Fatima was a most beautiful young, snowy Arabian. Alexander sighed
with delight when they led her out from her stable and she walked
about with Ian beside her, and when presently Ian mounted she curveted
and caracoled. Ian and she suited each other