“Na, na,” he said, “I have nae dogues that I can part with. They’re a’ bespoken. Lady Jean has mostly friends that want them, and I have but few this year. I canna part with one o’ them. Mr. Archie from Rosmore House, he came and picked up my best. I couldna well refuse the son o’ the place—but that’s thrown me far behind. Ye’ll excuse me for saying it, but you’re a stranger, my young gentleman, and I’m my lord’s auld servant, and Lady Jean’s. I must think o’ them first.”
“Do you think I would not be kind to it, you old sceptic,” said Eddy.
“I wasna saying ye would not be kind to it. There’s few folk wicked to dogues. I was saying I have none to dispose of. Ye will not be staying very lang at the Hoose? Ye’ve been here a good while, the young lady and you. Few visitors bide as lang now-a-days. I canna tell whether its the faut of having so many enjoyments, or if its the faut of the hosts that dinna give a sufficient welcome; but I notice that its three days, and that kind of a veesit that’s popular now. No time to turn yoursel’ round in. Just the day of coming and the day of going, and one or at the most twa days between.”
“We are not like that,” said Eddy, “we have come for a visitation, don’t you see: but I am sorry you think that we are staying too long.”
“Oh, it is none o’ my business,” said Rankin, with a serious face. “I’m thinking ye will be taking the road after this ball? they’re a’ talking about it. To hear what they say you would think it was ane o’ the Queen’s balls.”
“Well,” said Eddy, “I flatter myself it will be quite as pretty. By the way, Rankin, have you had any more encounters with that great scholar, don’t you know—the college man from Oxford—that I saw here.”
“I’m glad,” said Rankin, “that you’ve given me an occasion of speaking. Sir, ye’re young, and your experience is no great, though you have a real good opinion of yourself. Yon’s nae college man—or, if maybe in these times he may have gotten himself to be a college man—at least I can say this of him that he’s nae gentleman. Just you be awfu’ careful what you’re about wi’ yon man. I would not trust him a foot’s length out of my sight. He has nae root o’ the matter in him: neither ceevility, which is little thought upon, I allow, in the training of a college—nor learning. He is awfu’ cautious no to open his mouth on sich subjects; but my impression is that he has naething to say, and he’s nae mair a gentleman than yon doug. Mair! I’m meaning far less. Rover’s a real gentleman. He’ll make place for ye by the fire, and he’ll give you his best attention when you speak, and thank ye when ye do him a pleasure. A good doug of a good breed might learn manners to a prince; but as for yon friend of yours—”
“I never said he was a friend of mine,” said Eddy, “but you are too severe, Rankin. How should you be such a judge, not being a gentleman yourself?”
The old gamekeeper’s ruddy colour deepened a little.
“Sir,” he said, “I’ve aye found the best sign of a well-bred man was that he gave credit to other folk of being as good as himself—if no better. Them that fail in that will never come up to my standard. Ye think nae doubt that ye ken better than me—but just you take warning from an auld man. I’ve seen a’ kinds. Maybe you are no aware that I was much about the world in my younger years with my lord—and my lord wasna very particular in these days, though he’s a douce man now. I’ve seen a’ kinds; but a worse kind than yon Johnson man—”