“Well, I am glad to hear that he is harmless,” she said in a tone of relief, “for knowing that, one can enjoy listening to his playing and singing.”
“Do you think they will find him, Cousin Ronald?” asked Marian, in a tone that sounded slightly mirthful.
“I, lassie?” he returned; “what should I ken aboot the folks o’ this neighborhood?”
“Oh, you have visited here a good deal, and so I thought you might have gained some knowledge of so odd a character.”
“More than that possessed by any o’ these cousins who live in the neighborhood, lass?” he asked with a good-humored laugh. “Truly you are paying your auld kinsman a high compliment.”
“I could not possibly pay you one that would be higher than your deserts, Cousin Ronald,” she returned.
“Oh, hark!” exclaimed Rosie, “the bugler is at it again!” as a few notes floated on the air; then the same voice they had heard before sang again, apparently coming from a tree-top not many yards away:
“Green grow the rashes, O,
Green grow the rashes, O,
The sweetest hours that e’er I spend