"Isn't Laverlaw a lovely place ?" Pamela agreed.

"I never saw anything so indescribably green.

It wears the fairy livery.

I can easily picture True Thomas walking by that stream." "Long ago," said Jock in his gruff voice, "there was a keep at Laverlaw instead of a house, and Cousin Lewis' ancestors stole cattle from England, and there were some fine fights in this glen.

Laverlaw Water would run red with blood." "Jock," Jean protested, "you needn't say it with such relish." Pamela turned to her host.
"Priorsford seems to think you find yourself almost too contented at Laverlaw.