“Ah, there, sir. Peggy’s young English beauty, her sweet voice and winning ways, will completely take the Scottish heart by storm. There will be a furore, sir; she’ll win the day for the lot of us.”
There was positively a tear of pride in the honest giant’s eye as he spoke.
Captain Fitzroy held out his hand.
“Gourmand, we’ll go,” he said, “we’ll start to-morrow morning right away for Southampton, ship the whole show there to be next heard of in the second city of the Empire.”
* * * * *
They had been bearing up for the Midland counties, but now the course was altered, and the bows of the first great caravan were headed away for the west, or, as a sailor would say, west with a little bit of south in it.
“Wherever be we off to now, lovie?” said Molly Muldoon, when she met the giant next morning early. He looked full of business, his great shoulders well square back and strong enough apparently to have lifted Peggy’s caravan, wheels and all, hands a little begrimed, no hat, hair like heather, but a good-natured smile all over his broad and energetic face.
“Where be we off to? Eh? Why, my dear little roly-poly Molly, we’re going by sea to bonnie Scotland.”
“Lauk-a-mussy-me!” cried Molly. “Preserve us all from ’arm. To Scotland, where they all runs wild in short kilts, with red heads and red, bare legs. To Scotland, where they kills and eats babies, and serves old folks up in a stoo, where——”
“Ah, Molly, they’ll find you and me pretty tough eating, I’m thinking, even if they do try us in a stoo.”