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 them—­some of them!” said Ian.  “Come along, if we’re going through the glen.”

They left the kirkyard for the village street.  Here they sauntered, friends with the whole.  They looked in at the tavern upon the drovers, they watched the blacksmith and his helper.  The red iron rang, the sparks flew.  At the foot of the hill flowed the stream and stood the mill.  The wheel turned, the water diamonds dropped in sheets.  Their busy, idle day took them on; they were now in