'Of course you will cut your coat according to your cloth,' said Moncrieff, as he came one evening into the room we had set apart for our private study. He had found us 156 to-night with our heads all together over a huge sheet of paper on which we were planning out our house.
'Oh yes,' said Donald, 'that we must do.'
'But,' said Dugald, 'we do not expect to remain all our lives downright poor settlers.'
'That I am sure you won't.'
'Well, I propose building a much bigger house than we really want, so that when we do get a bit rich we can furnish it and set up—set up—'
'Set up a carriage and pair, eh?' said Donald, who was very matter of fact—'a carriage and pair, Dugald, a billiard-room, Turkey carpets, woven all in one piece, a cellar of old wine, a butler in black and flunkeys in plush—is that your notion?'
Donald and I laughed, and Dugald looked cross.
Moncrieff did not laugh: he had too much tact, and was far too kind-hearted to throw cold water over our young brother's ambitions and aspirations.
'And what sort of a house do you propose?' he said to us.
As he spoke he took a chair at Dugald's side of the table and put his arm gently across the boy's shoulders. There was very much in this simple act, and I feel sure Dugald loved him for it, and felt he had some one to assist his schemes.