“So the trespassers said,” quoth the squire; “but Stirn insisted on it—valuable man, Stirn. But ride round to the lodge. Put up your horse, and you’ll join us before we can get to the house.”
Randal nodded and smiled, and rode briskly on. The squire rejoined his Harry.
“Ah, William,” said she, anxiously, “though certainly Randal Leslie means well, I always dread his visits.”
“So do I, in one sense,” quoth the squire, “for he always carries away a bank-note for Frank.”
“I hope he is really Frank’s friend,” said Mrs. Hazeldean. “Who’s else can he be? Not his own, poor fellow, for he will never accept a shilling from me, though his grandmother was as good a Hazeldean as I am. But, zounds, I like his pride, and his economy too. As for Frank—”
“Hush, William!” cried Mrs. Hazeldean, and put her fair hand before the squire’s mouth. The squire was softened, and kissed the fair hand gallantly,—perhaps he kissed the lips too; at all events, the worthy pair were walking lovingly arm-in-arm when Randal joined them.
He did not affect to perceive a certain coldness in the manner of Mrs. Hazeldean, but began immediately to talk to her about Frank; praise that young gentleman’s appearance; expatiate on his health, his popularity, and his good gifts, personal and mental,—and this with so much warmth, that any dim and undeveloped suspicions Mrs. Hazeldean might have formed soon melted away.
Randal continued to make himself thus agreeable, until the squire, persuaded that his young kinsman was a first-rate agriculturalist, insisted upon carrying him off to the home-farm; and Harry turned towards the house; to order Randal’s room to be got ready: “For,” said Randal, “knowing that you will excuse my morning dress, I venture to invite myself to dine and sleep at the Hall.”
On approaching the farm-buildings, Randal was seized with the terror of an impostor; for, despite all the theoretical learning on Bucolics and Georgics with which he had dazzled the squire, poor Frank, so despised, would have beat him hollow when it came to the judging of the points of an ox, or the show of a crop.
“Ha, ha,” cried the squire, chuckling, “I long to see how you’ll astonish Stirn. Why, you’ll guess in a moment where we put the top-dressing; and when you come to handle my short-horns, I dare swear you’ll know to a pound how much oil-cake has gone into their sides.”