mmer-house, which commanded a view of
the whole garden, and of a beautiful stretch of country beyond, and here
they sat down to wait the coming of the others, whose voices they heard
below.

"No," said Graeme, "I was not at the Ebba often. But I remember the
avenue, and the glimpse of the lake that comes so unexpectedly after the
first turning from the gate. I am not sure whether I remember it, or
whether it is only fancy; but it must have been very beautiful."

"It is only fancy to you, I doubt, for we turned many a time after going
in at the gate, before the lake came in sight."

"Perhaps so. But I don't think it can all be fancy. I am sure I mind
the lake, with the swans sailing, on it, and the wee green islets, and
the branches of the birch trees drooping down into the water. Don't you
mind?"

"Yes, I mind well. It was a bonny place," said Janet, with a sigh.

"But, what a tiny lake it must have been! I remember we could quite
well see the flowers on the other side. It could not have been half so
large as Merleville Pond."

"It wasn't hardly worth while calling it a lake, was it?" said Mr Snow.

"It did for want of a bigger, you know," said Graeme, laughing. "It
made up in beauty what it wanted in size."

"It was a bonny spot," said Mrs Snow.

"And the birds! Whenever I want to imagine bird music in perfection, I
shut my eyes, and think of the birches drooping over the water. I
wonder what birds they were that sang there? I have never heard such
singing of birds since then."

"No, there are no such singing birds here," said Mrs Snow. "I used to
miss the lark's song in the morning, and the evening voices of the
cushat and the blackbird. There are no birds like them here."

"Ain't it just possible that the music may be fancy, too, Miss Graeme,"
said Mr Snow, who did not like to hear the regretful echo in his wife's
voice when she spoke of "home." Graeme laughed, and Mrs Snow smiled,
for they both understood his feeling very well, and Mrs Snow said,--

"No, the music of the birds is no fancy, as you might know from Sandy.
There are no birds like them here; but I have learnt to distinguish many
a pleasant note among the American birds--not like our own linties at
home, but very sweet and cheerful notwithstanding."

"The birds were real birds, and the music was real music. Oh! I wonder
if I ever shall hear it again!" said Graeme, with a sigh. "You will
hear it, Will, and see the dear old