On the second story there was a multitude of small rooms. One of them, over the library, which they entered first, disclosed to Harry’s half-reluctant eyes, the prettiest of little silvery burns, sparkling away into the river, under the shelter of those overgrown trees which made the under rooms so melancholy.
“Here we are,” said Lindsay, triumphantly. “How you may feel on the matter, I can’t tell, Mr. Muir, but this seems very fine to me; and the windows behind look out on the Forth.”
Harry was half-ashamed of his ill-humour, but for the moment he could not conquer it.
“We’ll give this room to the bonniest ane,” said the Dragon, with his feeble smile. “Whilk ane’s that, Mr. Hairy? and you’ll no be for ony mair windows for your Lady Rose,” added the old man, turning sharply round on Cuthbert.
Cuthbert had been investigating the apartment behind.
“The very brightest of drawing-rooms,” said the advocate, with a warmth which made Harry still more ashamed of himself. “You have nothing to do but take down this partition, and throw the two into one room.”
The poor old guardian of these dim walls clenched his hand, and shook it with feeble vehemence in Cuthbert’s face:
“Would ye put such radical notions into the innocent lad’s head? Would ye daur?”
CHAPTER II.
Lord what a nothing is this little span