How glad I felt! Though Father might be sorry at first, I felt so sure he would be thankful afterwards. As for the girl who had jilted him, I thought I could have made her into mincemeat. But I was so glad of his escape.
“The Laird wad ha’e had ye come wi’ yon lanky loon wi’ the glass of his e’e,” went on Sam: “he was bound frae Carlisle to London this neist month. But Mrs Kezia, she wan him o’er to send me for ye. An’ I was for to say that gin the minister wad like Miss Flora to gang wi’ ye, I micht care ye baith, or onie ither young damsel wha’s freens wad like to ha’e her sent soothwards.”
“O Flora,” I cried at once—“Annas!”
“Yes, we will send word to Monksburn,” answered Flora: and Angus jumped up and said he would walk over.
“As for me,” said Flora, turning to Sam, “I must hear my father’s bidding. I do not think I shall go—not if I may stay with him. But the Laird of Monksburn wishes Miss Keith to go south, and I think he would be glad to put her in your care.”
“And I’d be proud to care Miss Annas,” said Sam, with a pull at his forelock. “I mind her weel, a bit bonnie lassie. The Laird need nae fear gin she gangs wi’ me. But I’d no ha’e said sae mickle for yon puir weak silken chiel wi’ the glass in his e’e.”
“Why, Sam, who do you mean?” said I.
“Wha?” said Sam. “Yon pawky chiel, the auld Vicar’s nevey—Maister Parchmenter, or what ye ca him—a bonnie ane to guard a pair o’ lassies he’d be!”
“Mr Parmenter!” cried I. “Did Father think of sending us with him?”
“He just did, gin Mrs Kezia had nae had mair wit nor himsel’. She sent ye her loving recommend, young leddies, and ye was to be gude lassies, the pair o’ ye, and no reckon ye kent better nor him that had the charge o’ ye.”