‘Hey, Charlie! are ye sae muckle ta’en up wi’ your bonny bride, that your mother’s already forgotten?’
He felt the reproof, and immediately turned and went back to make some apology, but she prevented him by saying,—
‘See that this is no a Jacob and Esau business, Charlie, and that ye dinna wrang poor Watty; for he’s an easy good-natured lad, and will just do what either you or his father bids him.’
Charles laughed, and replied,—
‘I think, mother, your exhortation should rather be to Watty than me; for ye ken Jacob was the youngest, and beguiled his auld brother of the birthright.’
The old man heard the remark, and felt it rush through his very soul with the anguish of a barbed and feathered arrow; and he exclaimed, with an accent of remorse as sharp and bitter as the voice of anger,—
‘Hae done wi’ your clavers, and come awa. Do ye think Mr. Keelevin has nothing mair to do than to wait for us, while ye’re talking profanity, and taigling at this gait? Come awa, Watty, ye gumshionless cuif as ever father was plagued wi’; and Charlie, my lad, let us gang thegither, the haverel will follow; for if it has na the colley-dog’s sense, it has something like its instinct.’
And so saying, he stepped on hastily towards the gate, swinging his staff in his right hand, and walking faster and more erectly than he was wont.
The two sons, seeing the pace at which their father was going forward, parted from their mother and followed him, Charles laughing and jeering at the beau which Walter had made of himself.
During the journey the old man kept aloof from them, turning occasionally round to rebuke their mirth, for there was something in the freedom and gaiety of Charles’s laugh that reproached his spirit, and the folly of Walter was never so disagreeable to him before.