“Oh, dad’s in an importing business with branches all over the world, and his agents sometimes come to New York. I like to go down to the warehouses and talk to them, and I can manage to say a little in ten different languages. It’s positively my only accomplishment,” added John modestly.
“And now please show us over my castle,” Babbie demanded.
“May I ask by what right you claim the ownership of Dunstaffnage?” asked Mr. Dwight laughingly.
“Oh, I wanted a ruin,” explained Babbie, “and Madeline—Miss Ayres—picked this one out for me. But I shan’t accept it unless it’s a perfectly lovely one.”
“It is, though,” John assured her. “As far as I know, it can’t be beaten anywhere in Europe. How did you girls happen to come in by the back way?”
“We were glad enough to get here by any way,” laughed Babe. “Is this the back entrance, and are you the wardens of it?”
“No, but we’re the proud possessors of a permit from the owner to camp on his premises,” said John. “We got tired of the Oban hotels, and liked this beech-wood and the castle so much that we wanted to board near by. The people at the farm down the road that you should have come by were willing to feed us, but hadn’t any extra rooms, so I suggested a tent—I camped all last summer up in Canada—and here we are. If you’re going to be lady of the castle, Babbie, you’ll have to let us be its lords.”
“All right,” agreed Babbie, leading the way along a mossy path between the tall beeches. Presently she gave an exclamation of dismay. “Oh, but it’s such a very small castle! I thought it would be big and have a rampart and a moat.”
“That’s only the chapel, silly,” John explained. “The castle is farther on.”
“A chapel! Oh, what a darling one!” cried Betty. “I want the chapel for mine, Babbie. You can have the castle.”