“Good girl, good girl!” said Sir John. “Now I will go upstairs and wash my hands; and I presume you will do the same, little women. Then we’ll all enjoy a good meal.”
A few minutes later Sir John Crawford and the three Misses Vivian were seated round a rough table, on which was spread a very snowy but coarse cloth. The grouse were done to a turn. There was excellent coffee, the best scones in the world, and piles of fresh butter. In addition, there was a small bottle of very choice Scotch whiskey placed on the sideboard, with lemons and other preparations for a comforting drink by and by for Sir John.
The girls were somewhat silent during the meal. Even Betty, who could be a chatterbox when she pleased, vouchsafed but few remarks.
But when the supper-things had been cleared away Sir John said emphatically, turning to the three girls, “You got my telegram, with its splendid news?”
“We got your telegram, Uncle John,” said Hetty.
“With its splendid news?” repeated Sir John.
Hetty pursed up her firm lips; Sylvia looked at him and smiled; Betty crossed the room and put a little black kettle on the peat fire to boil.
“You would like some whisky-punch?” Betty said. “I know how to make it.”
“Thank you, my dear; I should very much. And do you three lassies object to a pipe?”
“Object!” said Betty. “No; Donald smokes every night; and since—since——” Her voice faltered; her face grew pale. After a minute’s silence she said in an abrupt tone, “We go into the kitchen most nights to talk to Donald while he smokes.”