A pair of friends—though I was young
And Matthew seventy-three.
WORDSWORTH.
“Eh, wee Hairy!” cried Miss Aggie Rodger, “your faither’s a muckle man noo; do you ken that, my pet? and you’ll ride in a coach, and get a grand powney o’ your ain, and eat grossets and pu’ flowers a’ the simmer through; do you hear that, my wee boy? But ye’ll have to gang away, Hairy, and what’ll we a’ do wanting ye?”
“It’s me that’s to get the pony,” said Violet. “I’m to ride into Stirling to the school every day, and I want Martha to buy a pillion for Katie Calder, and then, Miss Aggie, I can sit before, and Katie behind, like the lady in Lochinvar; but it’s me that’s to get the pony.”
“Preserve me, what a grand lady!” said Miss Aggie, throwing up little Harry in her arms; “but the wee boy’s the heir for a’ that—are ye no, Hairy?”
“But I want to ken how we’re to get to Stirling,” said Violet. “I ken about the Castle and the Ladies’ Rock, and all the places where the Douglas played, and where Lufra chased the deer, and King James coming down the High Street, too; but Mr. John, will you tell me how we’re to get to Stirling?”
“I never was there myself, Lettie,” said the idle man; “but there’s a map of Scotland in that auld book—see, down yonder in the corner, behind ‘Hervey’s Meditations’—that’s it—and we’ll look and see.”
The book was a dingy and tattered one, and beside it lay a very old copy of Young’s “Night Thoughts,” which Violet brought with her in her hand.
“See now, this is the road,” said the poor, good-natured Johnnie, with whom Lettie was an especial favourite, as he spread out the worn map on his knee, and taking a pin from the lappel of his coat, traced with it the route. “But your brother, you know, Lettie, went to Edinburgh first, and then sailed up here—and this is Stirling.”