Swan, Annie S. (Annie Shepherd), 1859-1943 / 2008-11-05 00:00:00


'It isn't at all a bad sort of place, my dear,' he said quite
cheerfully. 'At the back, in the yard, there's a tree and a strip of
grass. In spring, if you like, you might put in a pennyworth of seeds,
and have a flower.'
This was a tremendous concession. Gladys felt grateful for the kindly
thought which prompted it.
'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.
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