"
After a short pause, he continued:
"That sight has most crazed me. What was it you asked? Oh, I have it!
you asked where he came from? From the lake, Peter, where he was
spawned, and where he returned you see, to die. You were spawned on
the shores of one of the bays of the Highlands of Scotland. Wouldn't
you like to return and lay your bones there, eh? From earth you came,
to earth you shall return. Wouldn't you like to go back and breathe
the air of childhood once more before you die? Love of home, Peter, is
strong; it is an instinct of nature; but, alas! the world is a
Scotchman's home--anywhere that he can make money. Don't the mountains
with their misty summits appear before you sometimes in your sleep?
Don't you dream of their dark shadows and sunny spots, their heathy
slopes and deep deep glens? Do you see the deer grazing there, and
hear the bees hum merrily as they return laden with honey, or the
grouse rise startled, and whirr away to hide itself in its distant
covert? Do the dead ever rise from their graves and inhabit again the
little cottage that looks out on the stormy sea? Do you become a child
once more, and hear your mother's voice, as she sings the little
simple air that lulls you to sleep, or watch with aching eyes for the
returning boat that brings your father, with the shadows of evening,
to his humble home? And what is the language of your dreams? not
English, French, or Indian, Peter, for they have been learned for
trade or for travel, but Gaelic, for that was the language of love.
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