However, all is well that ends well, so they went on their way rejoicing.
It wasn't the first time that Creggan, young though he was, had made a walking tour in Skye, so he made an excellent guide for his friend.
Near to the wildest scenery of Scavaig, Coruisk, and the Cuchullin mountains, they lived for a day or two at a hotel that was palatial. Almost too much so, indeed, for simple Creggan's taste. He was not accustomed to carpeted rooms and silver forks, so he told Willie. He was at home in a moorland, he said, but not among lords and ladies dressed in silk and satin.
But Willie only laughed, and did all he could to put him to rights, and to teach him the manners and customs of polite society, both at table and in the drawing-room.
However, Creggan sighed like a steam-engine—a sigh of relief, however,—when he found himself once more in the cosy parlour of an old-fashioned glen inn.
"This is true pleasure, Willie," he said.
"Well," answered Willie, "I'm not shy, you know. I am as much at home in an old farmer's house as in a nobleman's drawing-room. Always keep cool, Creggan. Don't imagine people are staring at you in particular, and if ladies in society say pretty things to you or praise you up, don't get hysterical, for they never mean it."
Creggan laughed.
"Sometimes," continued Willie, "I am asked to sing or recite. By people who don't know me, I mean. They say, 'Now, Master Nugent, I'm sure you can favour us with a song, or a recitation'. 'Most certainly', I reply, and do both; but as I sing like a crow and recite like a hen that has just dropped an egg, they never ask me twice."
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