"I don't know, papa."

"So much of a man, at least, my Cosmo, that I am going to treat you
like a man this day, and tell you some things that I have never
talked about to any one since your mother's death.--You remember
your mother, Cosmo?"

This question he was scarcely ever alone with the boy without
asking--not from forgetfulness, but from the desire to keep the
boy's remembrance of her fresh, and for the pure pleasure of
talking of her to the only one with whom it did not seem profane to
converse concerning his worshipped wife.

"Yes, papa, I do."

The laird always spoke Scotch to his mother, and to Grizzie also,
who would have thought him seriously offended had he addressed her
in book-English; but to his Marion's son he always spoke in the
best English he had, and Cosmo did his best in the same way in
return.

"Tell me what you remember about her," said the old man.

He had heard the same thing again and again from the boy, yet every
time it was as if he hoped and watched for some fresh revelation
from the lips of the lad--as if, truth being one, memory might go
on recalling, as imagination goes on foreseeing.

"I remember," said the boy, "a tall beautiful woman, with long