The room, small as it was, had two windows, one west and one south, and a little fireplace north. The east side was only broken by the door that communicated with the bedroom. There were green curtains to the two windows, green carpet on the floor, and green covers to the rocking-chair and the child’s chairs, which were the only ones in the room. There was a cot-bed for the nurse and a crib for the child. A well-supplied wash-stand completed the furniture. The child lay sleeping soundly in his crib, and the nurse sat by him, occupying herself with some white embroidery that she habitually carried in her pocket, to fill up spare moments profitably.
“Crow is quite well, Janet?” inquired the young mother, approaching and looking at her rosy boy.
“Yes, me leddy, and sleeping like an angel,” answered the woman.
“Those are very comfortable quarters, Janet.”
“Yes, me leddy, though the roaring of yon Black Torrent, as they ca’ it, gars me grew. I wonder does it always roar sae loud.”
“Oh no, Janet. Mr. Berners says that it only sounds so when very much swollen by the rains. And Mr. Berners should know.”
“Aye, ma’am, and sae he suld! And a very fine gentleman is the laird!”
“He is not a laird, Janet! There are no lairds in America.”
“And what will he be then, ma’am?”
“Simply a gentleman—Mr. Berners.”