“Martha, will a pony carry two folk?” asked Violet, anxiously. “Yes, I mind—for ladies rode upon a pillion langsyne.”
“And what two folk would you have it carry, Lettie?” asked Rose.
“Me and Katie Calder. Martha, will you let Katie come?—for Auntie Jean’s ill to her; my uncle told Harry that, Martha.”
“Ask Agnes,” said Martha, with a smile; “I am only Harry’s sister and your sister, Lettie; but Agnes is lady of Allenders now; you must ask Agnes.”
The little wife grew red and white, and laughed hysterically; then she sank down on the floor at Martha’s feet, and clasped her arms round the elder sister’s waist, and wept quietly with her face hidden. It was too much for them all.
“And it’s an enchanted castle, and there’s a Dragon in it,” cried Violet joyously; “but, Rosie, Rosie, there should be a knight. Oh! I ken who it is—I ken who it is; it’s Mr. Charteris!”
“Lettie, what nonsense!” exclaimed Rose, who at that moment became extremely upright and proper.
“I ken; you’re the princess, Rosie, and Mr. Charteris is the knight; and maybe there’s fairies about the burn! Oh! I wish I was there!—me and little Katie Calder!”
Martha lifted the other letters from the table; they had been forgotten in the interest of this. One of them was from Uncle Sandy; the other was a note from Cuthbert, enclosing his sketch—an extremely brief note, saying little—yet Rose examined it over her sister’s shoulder stealthily, while the others looked at the drawing. There was nothing peculiar about the hand; and Rose did not understand the art of gleaning traits of character out of hair-strokes—yet her eyes went over it slowly, tracing the form of every letter. Poor Cuthbert! he thought this same Rose would be very much interested about his drawing; it seemed for the moment that these plain characters occupied her more.