While these changes were taking place in the other families, Annie McPherson's children were not standing still. Thomas MacDuff had long sought the hand of Jennie, but she had kept him alternating between hope and fear. "He is nae better than ither folk," said she, "if he is a minister's son. If I wanted a sweetheart I could find mony a laddie as good as himsel any day in the week."

"She is a chip of the old block," said Donald to his wife.

But finally she concluded that he was better than other laddies, and consented to become his wife. The light-hearted, fun-loving McPhersons had a merry wedding. Jokes and laughter were not wanting on that day, and these were not frowned upon even by the good minister, the bridegroom's father. "The Bible tells us there is a time to be merry," said he, "and what time is more fitting than a wedding-day?"

Thomas MacDuff taught a village school in a neighboring town, and thither he took his wife.

Robin still remained at home, but every passing year had added strength to his desire to go to America. He read of its boundless extent, its fertile soil, its sources of wealth, and the facility with which a home and competence could be acquired, and nothing would satisfy him but to go there. Scotland was well enough for those who wished to live and die in the same cottage, he said; but he wanted a better chance.

His parents looked with disapprobation on his plans and wishes, but he could not be turned from his purpose.

"I will make a man that you will not be ashamed of," said he. "Some day you will think I hae as muckle sense as ither folk."

Dame McKay having been laid in her last resting-place, her son was free to carry into effect his long-cherished desire to emigrate to America. He and Robin would go together. He had saved enough money to pay his passage. Robin also had some money; and when his father became convinced that nothing could keep him at home, he generously supplied him with as much more as he needed to pay his passage and defray his expenses until he should earn a support in the new country, or bring him back to Scotland if his anticipations should not be realized.

As the time for departure drew near, serious faces and sad hearts were in the home of the McPhersons. Robin tried to dissipate their sadness.

"Ye needna wear sic lang faces," said he. "America is nae longer thought to be the end o' the earth. Wha kens but I may graw rich there, and come back and mak a' the lairds lift their bonnets to me?"

"Oh, my puir bairn," said his mother, "mair likely ye willna ken what a hame is in that farawa land. Ye will be gaen aboot frae place to place, and naebody will think o' your comfort."

"Hoot, mither! As for a hame, I will get ane for mysel, and a Yankee wife will think of my comfort."

But when the tender-hearted Robin came to say adieu to father, mother, brother, and sister, it was all he could do to control his feelings. And there were his aged grandparents whom he could not expect to see again; he must say to them a last good-by. He thought it would be easier to speak his farewells hurriedly and hasten away. But they detained him to give their last words of counsel. Douce Donald looked very grave. Taking the young man's hand, he said,

"Robin, I hae been young, and I am noo auld. I hae learned mony things by experience, sae hear a ward frae your grandfaither. Dinna sow any wild oats; ye wunna want to reap them. Dinna meddle wi' the wine-cup; it will bring ye doun below the beasties that perish. Never gang at sic a gait as I hae dune in my younger days, for ye may never rin against ony honest Wullie wha will help ye back to the right way. God bless thee, Robin! May he keep thy foot frae falling and thine ee frae tears!"

The grandmother then approached, her strong face quivering with emotion.

"Your grandfaither has said what was in my mind to say. I will add only one thing. Pray to the great and gude Father that he will guide your feet in wisdom's ways, which are ways of pleasantness, and in her paths, which are paths of peace. Then shall we meet in that bonny warld, the shores o' which your grandparents are now nearing. Fare ye weel."

Robin was quite overcome; he could hardly trust his voice to reply. He stepped quickly from the door, said a last good-by, and drove away, not venturing to look back.

Separation from friends is often less felt by those who go out into the world than by those who remain at home. It was so in this case. Robin met Geordie McKay, as had been arranged, and the two young men set out together. Their minds were diverted by new scenes and bright anticipations; but it was not so at home. Annie McPherson gathered up every article that had been her son's, and laid them all away with tender touches, as if handling the relics of the dead. Many a sigh escaped her motherly bosom, and the very things he had often left in her way, and on account of which she had found fault with him, were now gently lifted, and invested almost with sacredness. All missed him as well as the mother. The father was unusually busy in order to divert his mind; the grandfather took his cane and walked far beyond the out-buildings—a thing he had not done for many a day; the grandmother lay down for her accustomed nap, but soon returned unrefreshed to her chair. "I canna sleep the day," she said. When evening came and all the household gathered around the hearth, Robin was their theme, and day after day the missing link of the family chain was held in remembrance and mentioned with tenderness.

When, however, there came a letter stating that he had arrived safely in New York, they felt relieved and comforted. He had written that he should start immediately for the broad West, to secure a home amid its fertile lands. And when he wrote that he and Geordie had each taken a homestead for almost nothing, and were living alone in a little log-cabin, and reported how easily they turned the soil, that there were no stones, that the climate was delightful, and that abundance of game could be had for the taking—those left at home began to think better of the venture. "Maybe," said they, "it wasna a fulish notion after a'."

Robin had indeed, in good earnest, set about making a home; but the second part of his vaunt, a wife to keep it, seemed less likely to be accomplished.

"Lassies are but few here," said Geordie. "I doot if ye find ane to suit your notion for a lang while, Robin."

"I wouldna want ane to come to this place just now," replied Robin. "I must first get my farm in good condition, and save my siller and build a house; then I would have a better chance wi' the lassies."

Geordie McKay was no whit behind Robin in industry and thrift. Both worked early and late. In a few years they had well-cultivated farms, horses and cattle, and each a very good house. Having prepared their cages, they were not long in finding birds to occupy them. A neighboring farmer who had two grown daughters soon became father-in-law to the two thrifty Scotchmen. Thus in the midst of abundance such as they had never seen in the old world did these two young men pass their days in cheerful labor, looking forward to the possibilities of the future, and glad that they had left a narrow world, too old to change its ways. Many a time, when venison, prairie-chicken, or a rabbit steamed on their well-supplied tables, did the circumstance of the stolen hare present itself to their memory, and Geordie thought of his pale, pinched mother, whose wants could not always be supplied.

Often did they talk of home, of bonny Scotland, and the friends they left behind them. Robin dearly loved his kindred across the water; and when he received tidings of the death of his grandfather, and afterwards of his grandmother, he sighed that he should have no more kindly messages from these aged relatives. He often wondered what his parents would say if they could see the great country in which he had chosen a home.

In his letters he pictured his surroundings in glowing colors. These letters were eagerly read and their contents told over. They fell on the ears of one more interested than the others, and that one was Davie Murdoch's Jamie. He knew that his parents would not care to have him feel any special interest in that subject, so he concealed his thoughts for a time, but they were like a smouldering fire in his bosom.