“There’s a fine subject for a ballad for the ‘Traveller’s Joy,’ Babie. ‘The Phantom Blackcock of Kilnaught!’”
Babie extemporised at once, amid great applause—
“The hills are high, the laird’s purse dry,
Come out in the morning early;
McNabs are keen, the Guards are green,
The blackcock’s tail is curly.
“The Southron’s spoil ‘tis worthy toil,
Come out in the morning early;
Come take my house and kill my grouse,
The blackcock’s tail is curly.
“Come out, come out, quoth Rory stout,
Come out in the morning early,
Sir Captain mark, he rises! hark,
The blackcock’s tail is curly.”
“Repetition, Babie,” said her mother; “too like the Montjoie S. Denis poem.”
“It saves so much trouble, mother.”
“And a recall to the freshness and innocence of childhood is so pleasing,” added Jock.
“How much did the man of family let his moor for?” asked Allen.
There Cecil saw the pitiful and indignant face opposite to him, would have sulked, and began looking at her for sympathy, exclaiming at last—
“Haven’t you a word to say for me, Miss Brownlow?”
“I don’t like it at all. I don’t think it is fair,” broke from Essie, as she coloured crimson at the laugh.