“Yes,” said Reeves, smiling; “but just keep your seat, for I sent word that you would not be home to-night.”
And really, reader, as I reseated myself I felt that I was not a bit sorry.
CHAPTER II.
A HERO IN HUMBLE LIFE.
“Is there, for honest poverty,
That hangs his head, and a’ that;
The coward-slave, we pass him by,
We daur be poor for a’ that!
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Our toil’s obscure, and a’ that;
The rank is but the guinea stamp,
The man’s the gowd for a’ that.”—Burns.
BRIGHT as the lark that rising from the dewy corn sings high at heaven’s gate were Mina and Miguel next morning at breakfast. Romantic language this may seem. Perhaps it is, only it suits me, and it suits the occasion.
Reeves, too, was pleasant and jolly; and I myself felt as happy as a sight of the Highlands in autumn never fails to make me.
Before bidding these good folks good-bye, I had to promise to come back—nay, not only that, but even to appoint the day.
When I told my friend the minister of my pleasant adventure, he said they had not been there very long. He was very old and somewhat stout, so had put off calling from week to week.
But on the very day after this he did get out his gig and pay them a visit of ceremony; and not only that, but invited the three to dinner.
“And,” he added, “I’m rather an old man, as you can see; and if I have one chief pleasure in life, it is music. Might I make so bold as to request this young lady and gentleman to bring their instruments with them?”