“You need not say it, mother,” said Kirsteen, “for that’s what nobody can know; and it’s just as likely he may be sent home with despatches, or some great grandee take a fancy to him and bring him back. And when we’re sitting some day working our stockings he’ll come linking in by the parlour door.”
“Oh, you’re just as light as air,” said the mother; “there’s nothing serious in ye. You think going to India is just like going to the fair.”
Kirsteen darted a quick glance at her mother, but said no more. Her eyes kept filling much against her will. She was in great terror lest a big drop might brim over and run down her cheek, to be spied at once by Jeanie or the boys. For nothing would be hid from these little things: they could note at the same moment the last bit of a bird which they had all counted on, being transferred to Aunt Eelen’s plate, and keep an eye upon the favourite apple each had chosen, and spy that suspicious brightness in Kirsteen’s eyes. Nothing could be hid from their sharp, little, all-inspecting looks.
There was a breathless moment when the cloth was drawn, and the black gleam of the mahogany underneath changed in a moment the lights of the picture, and gave the children a delightful opportunity of surveying themselves in that shining surface. It was a moment full of solemnity. Everybody knew what was coming. The port and sherry, with their little labels, in the silver holders intended to prevent the bottles from scratching the table, were placed before Mr. Douglas. Then there was also placed before him a trayful of tall glasses. He rose up: the eyes of all followed his movements: Jock and Jamie projecting their red heads forward in the smoky glow of the candles, then much in want of snuffing: Jeanie’s paler locks turned the same way. Mary, who had her mother’s brown smooth hair, rested her clasped hands upon the edge of the table with calm expectation. Kirsteen leant her elbows on the same shining edge, and put down her face in her hands. Miss Eelen shook her head, and kept on shaking it like a china mandarin. The laird of Drumcarro went to an old-fashioned wine-cooler, which stood under the sideboard. He took from it one bottle of champagne, which occupied it in solitary dignity. Marg’ret stood ready with a knife in her hand to cut the wire, and a napkin over her arm to wipe up anything that might be spilt. Not a word was said at table while these preliminaries were gone through. Aunt Eelen, as the catastrophe lingered, went so far as to make a suppressed Tchish! Tchish! of her tongue against her palate. The rest were full of serious excitement too important for speech. The bottle was opened finally without spilling a drop: it was perhaps not so much “up” as it might have been. Drumcarro filled all the glasses, one for each person at table, and another for Marg’ret. There was perhaps more foam than wine in a number of the glasses. He held up his own in his hand. “It’s Robbie’s last night at Drumcarro,” he said, “for the present. Have you all your glasses? Before the fizz is out of the wine drink to Robbie’s good health, and good luck to him, and to all our lads that have gone before.” He touched the foam in his glass, now fast dying away, with his lips. “May they all come back with stars on their breasts,” he said, “and do credit to their name—and not a laggard, nor a coward, nor one unworthy to be a Douglas among them all!”
The other male members of the party were standing up also, “Here’s to you, Robbie! Here’s to you, Robbie!” cried the two boys. The foam in their glasses merely moistened their throats; the minister, however, whose glass had been full, gravely swallowed its contents in little sips, with pauses between. “A very good health to them all, and the Lord bless them,” he said with imposing authority. Mrs. Douglas, taking advantage of the privilege awarded to her, began to cry, and Marg’ret lifted up a strong voice, from the foot of the table where she stood with her hand upon the shoulder of the hero.
“Be a good lad, Robbie—and mind upon your Minnie and a’ the family—and be a credit to us a’: here’s to you, and to the rest o’ the young gentlemen, them that’s gone, and them that are to go!”
“Ye’ll have to get a new bottle for the little one,” said Aunt Eelen, “Neil, my man, for your half-dozen will be out with Jock.” She gave a harsh laugh at her own joke. “And then there’s the lasses’ marriages to be thought upon,” she added, setting down her glass.
Drumcarro resumed his seat, the ceremonial being over. “Let the lasses’ marriages alone,” he said impatiently. “I’ve enough to think upon with my lads. Now, Rob, are you sure you’re all ready? Your things packed and all your odds and ends put up? The less of them you take the better. Long before you’ve got the length of Calcutta ye’ll be wishing you had left the half of your portmanteaux at home.”
“Well, ye’ll be wishing ye had but one. Bring ben the hot water, Marg’ret; for wine’s but a feeble drink, and cold on the stomach. My wife never moves at the right time—will I give her a hint that you’re waiting, Eelen?”