“Mr. Pym, would you pray lend me this box for a few days?” inquired Sir John.
“Nay, take it, sir,” answered the painter, “if the sorry thing hath any interest for you, take it and welcome.”
Murmuring his thanks, Sir John slipped it into his pocket; and shortly after, bidding Mr. Pym adieu, they left him to his gardening.
“Yon Pym-lassie,” quoth Sir Hector as they walked, “is like a bagpipes——”
“Never in the world, Hector!”
“Aye, John; she’s sweet as a bagpipes, whilk, as a’ the warld kens, is the sweetest and maist soothin’ of a’ instruments! ’Tis a muckle woefu’ wight Pym’ll be if ever she marries, I’m thinkin’! But, Johnnie, why for did ye want yon snuff-box?”
“Because I think I can find the man who lost it.”
“Losh, man! An’ suppose ye can, what then?”
“Why then, Hector, I think my Lord Sayle will cease from hunting smugglers.”
“Eh? Sayle? Man, what d’ye mean?”