“But ye’re no’ a’ equal. There’s as muckle difference among folks here as elsewhere, whatever be your ticket. There are folk coming and going here, that in my country I would hate sent round to the back door; but naething short of the company of the minister himself will serve them. Gentlemen like the Judge, or like Mr Greenleaf here, will sit and bide the minister’s time; but upsettin’ bodies such as I could name—”
“Well, I wouldn’t name them, I guess. General principles are best in such a case,” said Mr Snow. “And I am willing to confess there is among us an aristocracy of merit. Your friend the Judge belongs to that and your father, Miss Graeme; and I expect Squire Greenleaf will, too, when he goes to Congress. But no man is great here just because his father was before him. Everybody has a chance. Now, on your side of the water, ‘a man must be just what his father was.’ Folks must stay just there. That’s a fact.”
“You seem to be weel informed,” said Janet drily.
“Ah! yes; I know all about it. Anybody may know anything and everything in this country. We’re a great people. Ain’t that so, Mr Foster?”
“It must be granted by all unprejudiced minds, that Britain has produced some great men,” said Mr Foster, breaking out in a new spot as Mr Snow whispered to the Squire.
“Surely that would be granting too much,” said Norman.
“But,” pursued Mr Foster, “Britons themselves confess that it is on this Western Continent that the Anglo-Saxon race is destined to triumph. Descended from Britons, a new element has entered into their blood, which shall—which must—which—”
“Sounds considerable like the glorious Fourth, don’t it?” whispered Mr Snow.
“Which hasna put muckle flesh on their bones as yet,” said the literal Mrs Nasmyth.
“I was about to say that—that—”