“I am, &c.
“Gillravidge.”
“Did ever any mortal hear such impertinence?” exclaimed the amazed Miss Lumsden.
“His people!” said the minister: “they have been his a long time to be so summarily dealt with as goods and chattels. The man must have got his ideas of Scotland from ‘Waverley,’ and thinks he is a Glennaquoich and at the head of a clan—what absurd folly it is!”
“And just, ‘Sir!’ ” said Miss Lumsden, indignantly; “he might have had the good breeding to call you ‘Reverend’ at least.”
Mr. Lumsden laughed. He rose and changed the long black garment, once a great-coat, now his study-coat and morning-undress, for habiliments better suiting the long ride he was about to commence, twisted his plaid round his neck, and shut his quarto.
“What do you intend to do, John?” asked Miss Lumsden. “Are you going out?”
“I intend to do just what I should have done, had I not received this polite note,” said Mr. Lumsden. “I am going to Oranmore, Martha. This lordling threatens to eject these hapless Macalpines, and poor Kenneth, the widow’s son, is on the very verge of the grave. I must see him to-day. If they attempt to remove him, it will kill the lad.”
“Remove them, John? what are you thinking of?” said Miss Lumsden: “it is nearly three months yet to the term.”
The minister shook his head.