“Then it cannot be fit for thee and Thora Ragnor to repeat.”
“Wilt thou hear it?”
“Is it about some girl he loved?”
“No, it is about a man he scorned. Thou must have heard of Andrew Horner?”
“Never heard the creature’s name before.”
“Then the story will be fresh to thee. Will thou hear it now?”
“As well now, as later.” For Adam really had no expectation of hearing anything he had not already heard and judged; and he certainly expected nothing unusual from the proper and commonplace Thora Ragnor. But Sunna exerted all her facial skill and eloquence, and told the clever incident with wonderful spirit and delightful mimicry. Adam was enchanted; he threw down his knife and fork and made the room ring with laughter and triumph so genuine that Sunna––much 142 against her will––was compelled to laugh with him. They heard the happy thunder in the kitchen, and wondered whatever was the matter with the Master.
“It is Robert Burns, his own self, and no other man. It is the best thing I have heard from ‘the lad that was born in Kyle!’” Vedder cried. “Ill-natured! Not a bit of it! Just what the Horner man deserved!” Then he took some more collops and a fresh taste of Glenlivet, and anon broke into laughter again.
“Oh! but I wish I was in Edinburgh tonight! There’s men there I would go to see and have my laugh out with them.”
“Grandfather, why should we not go to Edinburgh next winter? You could board me with Mistress Brodie, and come every day to sort our quarrels and see that I was properly treated. Then you could have your crow over the ignoramuses who did not know such a patent Burns story; and I could take lessons in music and singing, and be learning something or seeing something, every hour of my life.”