They lay for some time in silence, listening to the rain.  At length Harry spoke: 

“I have been thinking of what you told me yesterday, Mr. Sutherland, about the rain going to look for the seeds that were thirsty for it.  And now I feel just as if I were a seed, lying in its little hole in the earth, and hearing the rain-drops pattering down all about it, waiting—­oh, so thirsty!—­for some kind drop to find me out, and give me itself to drink.  I wonder what kind of flower I should grow up,” added he, laughing.

“There is more truth than you think, in your pretty fancy, Harry,” rejoined Hugh, and was silent—­self-rebuked; for the memory of David came back upon him, recalled by the words of the boy; of David, whom he loved and honoured with the best powers of his nature, and whom yet he had neglected and seemed to forget; nay, whom he had partially forgotten—­he could not deny.  The old man, whose thoughts were just those of a wise child, had said to him once: 

“We ken no more, Maister Sutherlan’, what we’re growin’ till, than that neep-seed there kens what a neep is, though a neep it will be.  The only odds is, that we ken that we dinna ken, and the neep-seed kens nothing at all aboot it.  But ae thing, Maister Sutherlan’, we may be sure o’:  that, whatever it be, it will be worth God’s makin’ an’ our growin’.”

A solemn stillness fell upon Hugh’s spirit, as he recalled these words; out of which stillness, I presume, grew the little parable which follows; though Hugh, after he had learned far more about the things therein hinted at, could never understand how it was, that he could have put so much more into it, than he seemed to have understood at that period of his history.

For Harry said: 

“Wouldn’t this be a nice place for a story, Mr. Sutherland?  Do you ever tell stories, sir?”

“I was just thinking of one, Harry; but it is as much yours as mine, for you sowed the seed of the story in my mind.”

“Do you mean a story that never was in a book—­a story out of your own head?  Oh! that will be grand!”

“Wait till we see what it will be, Harry; for I can’t tell you how it will turn out.”

After a little further pause, Hugh began: 

“Long, long ago, two seeds lay beside each other in the earth, waiting.  It was cold, and rather wearisome; and, to beguile the time, the one found means to speak to the other.

“‘What are you going to be?’ said the one.

“‘I don’t know,’ answered the other.

“‘For me,’ rejoined the first, ’I mean to be a rose.  There is nothing like a splendid rose.  Everybody will love me then!’

“‘It’s all right,’ whispered the second; and that was all he could say; for somehow when he had said that, he felt as if all the words in the world were used up.  So they were silent again for a day or two.

“‘Oh, dear!’ cried the first, ’I have had some water.  I never knew till it was inside me.  I’m growing!  I’m growing!  Good-bye!’