He opened it, and looked at the signature—“Angus Ballister.” A sudden flush of pleasure made him appear almost handsome, and when he had read the epistle he was still more delighted, for it ran thus:
Dear Neil,
I am going to spend the rest of vacation at Ballister Mansion, and I want you with me. I require your help in a particular business investigation. I will pay you for your time and knowledge, and your company will be a great pleasure to me. This afternoon I will call and see you, and if you are busy with the nets, I shall enjoy helping you.
Your friend,
Angus Ballister.
Neil was really much pleased with the message, and glad to hear of an opportunity to make money, 42 for though the young man was selfish, he was not idle; and he instantly perceived that much lucrative business could follow this early initiation into the Ballister affairs. He quickly finished his arrangement of the dishes and the kitchen, and then, putting on an old academic suit, made his room as scholarly and characteristic as possible. And it is amazing what an air books and papers give to the most commonplace abode. Even the old inkhorn and quill pens seemed to say to all who entered—“Tread with respect. This is classic ground.”
His predominating thought during this interval was, however, not of himself, but of Christine. She had promised to come to him at three o’clock. How would she come? He was anxious about her first appearance. If he could in any way have reached her, he would have sent his positive command to wear her best kirk clothes, but at this great season neither chick nor child was to be seen or heard tell of, and he concluded finally to leave what he could not change or direct to those household influences which usually manage things fairly well.
As the day went on, and Ballister did not arrive, he grew irritably nervous. He could not study, and he found himself scolding both Ballister and Christine for their delay. “Christine was so ta’en up wi’ the feesh, naething else was of any import to her. Here was a Scottish gentleman coming, who might be the makin’ o’ him, and a barrel o’ herrin’ stood in his way.” He had actually fretted himself into 43 his Scotch form of speech, a thing no Gael ever entirely forgets when really worried to the proper point.
When he had said his heart’s say of Christine, he turned his impatience on Ballister—his behavior was that o’ the ordinary rich young man, who has naething but himsel’ to think o’. He, Neil Ruleson, had lost a hale morning’s wark, waiting on his lairdship. Weel, he’d have to pay for it, in the long run. Neil Ruleson had no waste hours in his life. Nae doubt Ballister had heard o’ a fast horse, or a fast——
Then Ballister knocked at the door, and Neil stepped into his scholarly manner and speech, and answered Ballister’s hearty greeting in the best English style.
“I am glad to see you, Neil. I only came to Ballister two days ago, and I have been thinking of you all the time.” With these words the youth threw his Glengary on the table, into the very center and front of Neil’s important papers. Then he lifted his chair, and placed it before the open door, saying emphatically as he did so—
Lands may be fair ayont the sea,
But Scotland’s hills and lochs for me!