“Father, my good daddy, why did you say that? Would you be very, very angry?”
“There, lassie, don’t cry!” said Bell. “It has been my earnest wish for many a day; and when Mat spoke—I mean I am getting old, and long have I hoped that you would be wedded to one of the most honest, upright, and, by Jove! manly fellows I have ever met.”
“You have made me so happy,” whispered Annie, who had now thrown herself into her father’s arms and was silently weeping on his neck. “I knew that you would not be against me, nor against him.”
“There, my dear,” said the squire, as he gently disengaged himself from her embrace. “Let us keep this to ourselves until that young rover returns home.”
“I must kiss your dear, kind old face again, dad.”
“That will do, lassie,” laughed Bell, as he submitted to half a dozen little smacks administered in quick succession over his rugged face. “Go on with your drawing, and let me smoke in peace.”
“I cannot finish it now, father; let us go home!” and Annie packed up her drawing materials and called Robin.
The noble beast threw up his head from the grass that he was cropping, fixed his great, calm eye upon his mistress, and then, walking solemnly up, commenced “nuzzling” his nose into her hand.
“Why, how you must have petted the rascal!” said the squire, who had watched these proceedings with an amused smile.
“Yes, I often stroke his head, and kiss that pink spot on his soft, velvety nose; but I expect that his affection is all cupboard love, for, you see, he is sniffing about for the bread and salt which I am in the habit of giving him.”