eply to this elegant address
of his father's, who continued, "I sent for you, sir, to have some
conversation about this farm of Macglashan's; so sit down there till I
show you the plans."

Hardly conscious of what he was doing, poor Henry gazed in silent
confusion, as his father pointed out the various properties of this his
future possession. Wholly occupied in debating within himself how he was
to decline the offer without a downright quarrel, he heard, without
understanding a word, all the old gentleman's plans and proposals for
building dikes, draining moss, etc.; and, perfectly unconscious of what
he was doing, yielded a ready assent to all the improvements that were
suggested.

"Then as for the hoose and offices,-let me see," continued the Laird, as
he rolled up the plans of the farm, and pulled forth that of the
dwelling-house from a bundle of papers. "Ay, here it is. By my troth,
ye'll be weel lodged here. The hoose is in a manner quite new, for it
has never had a brush upon it yet. And there's a byre--fient a bit, if I
would mean the best man i' the country to sleep there himsel.'"

A pause followed, during which Glenfern was busily employed in poring
over his parchment; then taking off his spectacles, and surveying his
son, "And now, sir, that you've heard a' the oots an' ins o' the
business, what think you your farm should bring you at the year's end?"

"I--I--I'm sure--I--I don't know," stammered poor Henry, awakening
from his reverie.

"Come, come, gi'e a guess."

"I really--I cannot--I haven't the least idea."

"I desire, sir, ye'll say something directly, that I may judge whether
or no ye ha'e common sense," cried the old gentleman angrily.

"I should suppose-I imagine-I don't suppose it will exceed seven or
eight hundred a year," said his son, in the greatest trepidation at this
trial of his intellect.

"Seven or eight hunder deevils!" cried the incensed Laird, starting up
and pushing his papers from him. "By my faith, I believe ye're a born
idiot! Seven or eight hunder pounds!" repeated he, at least a dozen
times, as he whisked up and down the little apartment with extraordinary
velocity, while poor Henry affected to be busily employed in gathering
up the parchments with which the floor was strewed.

"I'll tell you what, sir," continued he, stopping; "you're no fit to
manage a farm; you're as ignorant as yon coo, an' as senseless as its
cauf. Wi' gude management, Clackandow should produce yo