nywhere with
Ian, at Glenfernie, or at Black Hill, or on the road between, or in
the country roundabout.

William Jardine, chancing to be one day at Black Hill, watched from
Mrs. Alison's parlor the two going down the avenue, the dogs at their
heels. "It's a fair David and Jonathan business!"

"David needed Jonathan, and Jonathan David."

"Had Jonathan lived, ma'am, and the two come to conflict about the
kingdom, what then, and where would have flown the friendship?"

"It would have flown on high, I suppose, and waited for them until
they had grown wings to mount to it."

"Oh," said the laird, "you're one I can follow only a little way!"

Ian and Alexander felt only that the earth about them was bright and
warm.

On a brown-and-gold day the two found themselves in the village of
Glenfernie. Ian had spent the night with Alexander--for some reason
there was school holiday--the two were now abroad early in the day.
The village sent its one street, its few poor lanes, up a bare
hillside to the church atop. Poor and rude enough, it had yet to-day
its cheerful air. High voices called, flaxen-haired children pottered
about, a mill-wheel creaked at the foot of the hill, iron clanged in
the smithy a little higher, the drovers' rough laughter burst from the
tavern midway, and at the height the kirk was seeing a wedding. The
air had a tang of cooled wine, the sky was blue.

Ian and Alexander, coming over the hill, reached the kirk in time to
see emerge the married pair with their kin and friends. The two stood
with a rabble of children and boys beneath the yew-trees by the gate.
The yellow-haired bride in her finery, the yellow-haired groom in his,
the dressed and festive following, stepped from the kirkyard to some
waiting carts and horses. The most mounted and took place, the
procession put itself into motion with clatter and laughter. The
children and boys ran after to where the road dipped over the hill. A
cluster of village folk turned the long, descending street. In passing
they spoke to Alexander and Ian.

"Who was married?--Jock Wilson and Janet Macraw, o' Langmuir."

The two lounged against the kirkyard wall, beneath the yews.

"_Marry!_ That's a strange, terrible, useless word to me!"

"I don't know...."

"Yes, it is!... Ian, do you ever think that you've lived before?"

"I don't know. I'm living now!"

"Well, I think that we all lived before. I think that the same things
happen again--"

"Well, let