“What do you know about Deborah Hunter?” returned Grandmamma pulling out her snuff-box, and taking a third pinch in a hurry, as if the mere mention of a Dissenter made her feel faint. “Who has been talking to you about such a creature? The less you hear of her the better.”
“Oh, we always knew her name, Madam,” said Hatty, “and that she was a presbyter’s daughter.”
“Well, that is as much as you will know of her with my leave!” said Grandmamma.
I do not know what more she might have said, if my Uncle Charles had not come in: but he brought news that the Prince’s army had been victorious at Falkirk, and the Cause is looking up again.
“They say the folks at Saint James’s are very uneasy,” said my Uncle Charles, “and the Elector’s son is to be sent against the Prince with a larger army. I hear he set forth for Edinburgh last night.”
“What, Fred?” said Grandmamma.
“Fred? No,—Will,” (Note 1.) answered my Uncle Charles.
“That is the lad who was wounded at Dettingen?” replied she.
“The same,” he made answer. “Oh, they are not without pluck, this family, foreigners though they be. The old blood is in them, though there’s not much of it.”
“They are a pack of rascals!” said Grandmamma, with another pinch. I thought the box would soon be empty if she were much more provoked.