“You know, Armie, he said cutting them would be the ruin of the plant, and I don’t feel justified in destroying it.”
“Macrae’s fancy,” muttered Armine. “It is only that he hates the whole thing.”
“Unhappy Macrae! I go and condole with him sometimes,” said Bobus. “I don’t know which are most outraged—his Freekirk or his horticultural feelings!”
“Babie,” ordered Armine, who was devouring his breakfast at double speed, “if you’ll put on your things, I’ve the garden donkey-cart ready to take down the flowers. You won’t expect us to luncheon, mother?”
Barbara, though obedient, looked blank, and her mother said—
“My dear, if I went down and helped at the Church till half past twelve, could not we all be set free? Your brothers want us to bring their luncheon to them at the Hanger.”
“That’s right, mother,” cried Jock; “I’ve half a mind to come and expedite matters.”
“No, no, Skipjack!” cried Bobus; “I had that twenty stone of solid flesh whom I see walking up to the house to myself all yesterday, and I can’t stand another day of it unmitigated!”
Entered the tall heavy figure of Rob. He reported his father as much the same and not yet up, delivered a note to his aunt, and made no objection to devouring several slices of tongue and a cup of cocoa to recruit nature after his walk; while Bobus reclaimed the reluctant Armine from cutting scarlet geraniums in the ribbon beds to show him the scene in the Greek play which he was to prepare, and Babie tried to store up all the directions, perceiving from the pupil’s roving eye that she should have to be his memory.
Jock saw that the note had brought an additional line of care to his mother’s brow, and therefore still more gaily and eagerly adjured her not to fail in the Long Hanger, and as the shooting party started, he turned back to wave his cap, and shout, “Sharp two!”