“Good day!”

The youth stood beside him.  “I am Ian Rullock.”

“I am Alexander Jardine.”

“Of Glenfernie?”

“Aye, you’ve got it.”

“Then we’re the neighbors that are to be friends.”

“If we are to be we are to be....  I want a friend....  I don’t know if you’re the one that is to answer.”

The other dropped beside him upon the heath.  “I saw you walking along the hilltop.  So when you did not come on I thought I’d climb and meet you.  This is a lonely, miserable country!”

Alexander was moved to defend.  “There are more miserable!  It’s got its points.”

“I don’t see them.  I want London!”

“That’s Babylon.—­It’s your own country.  You’re evening it with England!”

“No, I’m not.  But you can’t deny that it’s poor.”

“There’s one of its sons, named Touris, that is not poor!”

Rullock rose upon one knee.  “The wise man gets rich and the fool stays poor.  Do you want to be friends or do you want to fight?”

Alexander clasped his hands behind his head and lay back upon the earth.  “No, I do not want to fight—­not now!  I wouldn’t fight you, anyhow, for standing up for one to whom you’re beholden.”

Silence fell between them, each having eyes upon the other.  Something drew each to each, something repelled each from each.  It was a question, between those forces, which would gain.  Alexander did not feel strange with Ian, nor Ian with Alexander.  It was as though they had met before.  But how they had met and why, and where and when, and what that meeting had entailed and meant, was hidden from their gaze.  The attractive increased over the repellent.  Ian spoke.

“There’s none down there but my uncle and his sister, my aunt.  Come on down and let me show you the place.”

“I do not care if I do.”  He rose, and the two went along the hilltop and down the path.

Ian was the readier in talk.  “I am going soon to Edinburgh—­to college.”

“I’m going, too.  The first of the year.  I am going to try if I can stand the law.”

“I want to be a soldier.”

“I don’t know what I want....  I want to journey—­and journey—­and journey ... with a book along.”

“Do you like books?”

“Aye, fine!”

“I like them right well.  Are there any pretty girls around here?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t like girls.”

“I like them at times, in their 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—­”