And soon our young fellows settled down, and all the old wild life of wandering on the hills and of sport began again. For indeed the boys needed a rest.
Little Johnnie Shingles and that droll Old Pen took up their abode in the servants' hall, but were often invited into the drawing-room of an evening, when, to the music of Frank's fiddle, the boy and Mother Pen brought down the house, so to speak, by their inimitable waltzing. This was fun to everybody else, and even to Johnnie himself. But while whirling around in the mazy dance, with his head leant lovingly on the nigger-boy's shoulder, Pen never looked more serious in his life.
A great ball was given shortly after the return of our heroes, and Glenvoie House looked very gay indeed.
While dancing that night with Flora, Frank took occasion to say to his partner, in language that was certainly more outspoken than romantic:
"Mind, Flo, you and I are going to get hitched when we're a bit older."
"Hitched, Frank?"
"Well, spliced then. You know what I mean."
"She looked down to blush, she looked up to sigh,
"With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye."
I throw in these two lines of poetry just because they look pretty, and I sha'n't charge my publisher a penny for them either. But, to tell the truth--a thing I always do except when--but never mind--Flora neither blushed nor sighed.
"That means getting married, doesn't it?" she said. "Well, we'll see; but do keep step, Frank!"