"Perfect nonsense, Mr. Errol! Don't let me hear you talk like that again."
"Hearin's obeyin'," meekly replied the minister, showing that he was making some progress in his mature wooing.
After breakfast, the company sat out on the verandah. The colonel had to smoke his morning cigar, and courteously offered his cigar case to all the gentlemen, who declined with thanks. "If it were not that I might trouble the ladies," said the minister, "I might take a draw out of poor Coristine's meerschaum." Mrs. Carmichael at once said: "Please do so, Mr. Errol; the doctor smoked, so that I am quite used to it. I like to see a good man enjoying his pipe."
"You are quite sure, Mrs. Carmichael, that it will not be offensive? I would cut off my right hand rather than be a smoking nuisance to any lady."
"Quite sure, Mr. Errol; go on and fill your pipe, unless you want me to fill it for you. I know how to do it."
So, Mr. Errol continued the splore, and smoked the Turk's head. Mr. Terry lit his dudheen, and Mr. Bigglethorpe, his briar. The Squire's head was too sore for smoking, but he said he liked the smell o' the reek. While thus engaged, a buggy drove up, and Miss Halbert and Mr. Perrowne alighted from it, while Maguffin, always watchful, took the horse round to the stable yard. The doctor had heard of Rawdon's capture, and had sent these two innocents to see that all was right at Bridesdale. Miss Halbert sat down by Miss Du Plessis, and the parson accepting one of the colonel's cigars, joined the smokers. He also regretted the absence of Coristine, a splendid fellow, he said, a perfect trump, the girl will be lucky who gets a man like that, expressions that were not calculated to make Miss Carmichael happy. Mr. Perrowne had proposed and had been accepted. He was in wild spirits, when Mr. Bigglethorpe startled the company by saying, "I've got an idear!"
"Howld on to it, Bigglethorpe, howld on; you may never get another," cried the parson.
"What is it?" asked Mrs. Carruthers, who was shooing the children away to Tryphosa.
"It's a united picnic to the likes. Who's got to sty at home?"
"I have for one," answered the Squire; "yon deevil o' a Rawdon has gien me a scunner at picnics."