II
"I hope you will soon feel at home in the old manor." With these words I was made welcome. Mrs. Macleod led the way into the house.
"Jamie," she said to a young man, or youth, I could not tell which, "this is Miss Farrell. My son," she added, turning to me.
"Call me Marcia," I said to her. She smiled as if pleased.
"You will be feeling very tired after your long journey—and I 'm thinking jolly hungry after coming up in the old boat; that was mother's doings."
"Now, Jamie—!" she spoke in smiling protest.
O Jamie, Jamie Macleod! Your thin bright eager face was in itself a welcome to the old manor of Lamoral.
"I 'm not tired, but I confess to having a good appetite; this Canada air would make an angel long for manna," I said laughing.
"Wouldn't it though—oh, it's great!" he responded joyfully. "Angélique, here, will help you out in that direction—she's our cook; Angélique, come here." He gave his command in French.
The short thickset French Canadian of the black-eyed-Susan type, came forward, with outstretched hand, from the back of the passageway; there was good friendship in her hearty grip.