Meinie of course was about to enter some bashful protest, when the soft voice of her foster-sister said,—
"Do, dearest Meinie, and I will join thee; 'twill raise the spirits of good aunt Grisel. Ah, if I had only my spinnet, the cittern, or even my flageolet here!"
"What is your pleasure, then, Madam Lilian?" asked Meinie, curtseying, "Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament, or The Broom of the Cowdenknowes?"
"Anything but the last," said Lady Bruntisfield. "The Knowes of Cowden hath passed away from the house of Hume, and bonnie though the golden broom may be, it blooms for us no more."
"Sing 'Dunbarton's drums,' Meinie," said Lilian, "you hum it from morning till evening."
"And so do you, Madam," said Meinie slyly and bluntly; "but I loe the merry measure."
"Ewhow, that's because o' my wild son Hab!" said Elsie, laughing. "Mak' speed, lassie—our lady waits."
Meinie made another low old-fashioned curtsey, and then, while continuing her task, sang the song and march composed for the Scots Royals, or Dunbarton's Musqueteers, and which had then been popular in Scotland for some years. Lilian at times added her softer notes to Meinie's, and their clear voices made the rough rafters, hollow box-beds, and deep bunkers of the old cottage ring to that merry old air:—
"Dunbarton's drums beating bonnie, O,
Remind me o' my Johnnie, O,
added Elsie, beating time with her feet to the mellow voices of the girls; but Lady Bruntisfield heard them not, for with her glistening eyes fixed on the glowing embers, she gradually sunk into a deep reverie. Animated each by her own secret thoughts, the girls sang with tenderness and enthusiasm, and all were so much engaged that none of the four perceived a fifth personage, who suddenly made his appearance among them.