The costume was one which his father had worn as chief of his clan when Sandy was a young man. There had been a dispute in which he and his father had been equally obstinate.
When the old man died, Sandy had left Scotland, taking with him the suit of tartan, the bagpipes, and, dearer than all, a letter in which his father forgave him for his part in the dispute. Further than this he refused to talk, saying nothing whatever as to living kinsmen or friends.
Having told a part of his story to Helen, to which she listened with ready interest and sympathy, it needed but a hit of judicious coaxing to get him to promise to play at the apple-bee.
And now the gayety, which had lulled while every one had listened to the music, revived, and each one present seemed to be trying his best to out-talk his neighbor.
“Isn’t Miss Dayton’s blue dress the very handsomest dress you ever saw?” said Jemima Babson.
“Yes, and isn’t she the handsomest person you ever saw in any dress?” said Phœbe Small, looking sharply at Randy, who was looking unusually pretty with her hair dressed to show its curls and ripples.
“Miss Dayton’s splendid, we all know that,” said Jotham, blushing furiously; “but it don’t make it out that Randy Weston isn’t amazing pretty.”
And here another voice chimed in, “Did yer ever taste anything like that candy in yer life?”
“It was just splendid, and I do b’lieve—”
“Have ye noticed Mrs. Jenks? I do declare, she’s as much different from what she used ter be as possible. Why, she sent them fine apples, and gave the hull of them pumpkins, and—”