Bud thought hard a while. “Phil—phil—What’s a philanthropic principle?” she asked.
“It’s a principle on which you don’t expect much interest except in another world,” said her uncle. “The widow’s what they call a Pilgrim, hereabouts; if the meek were to inherit the earth in a literal sense, she would long ago have owned the whole county.”
“A truly Christian woman!” said Miss Bell.
“I’m not denying it,” said Mr Dyce; “but even a Christian woman should think sometimes of the claims of her creditors, and between ourselves it takes me all my time to keep the wholesale merchants from hauling her to court.”
“How do you manage it?” asked Ailie, with a twinkle in her eyes; but Dan made no reply,—he coughed and cleaned his spectacles.
CHAPTER XVII.
There was joy a few days later in the Dyce’s kitchen when Peter the postman, with a snort that showed the bitterness of his feelings, passed through the window a parcel for Kate, that on the face of it had come from foreign parts. “I don’t ken who it’s from, and ye’re no’ to think I’m askin’,” said he; “but the stamps alone for that thing must have cost a bonny penny.”
“Did they, indeed!” said Kate, with a toss of her head. “Ye’ll be glad to ken he can well afford it!” and she sniffed at the parcel, redolent of perfumes strange and strong.
“Ye needna snap the nose off me,” said the postman, “I only made the remark. What—what does the fellow do?”
“He’s a traveller for railway tunnels,” retorted the maid of Colonsay, and shut the window with a bang, to tear open the parcel in a frenzy of expectation, and find a bottle of Genuine Riga Balsam—wonderful cure for sailors’ wounds!—another of Florida Water, and a silver locket, with a note from Charles saying the poem she had sent was truly grand, and wishing her many happy returns of the day. Like many of Charles’s letters now, its meaning was, in parts, beyond her, until she could learn from Bud the nature of the one to which it was an answer,—for Bud was so far enraptured with the wandering sailor that she sometimes sent him letters which the servant never saw. That day the breakfast service smelt of Florida Water, for Kate had drenched herself with the perfume, and Miss Bell was sure she had washed the dishes again with scented soap, as was the habit of the girl when first she came from Colonsay, and thought that nothing but Brown Windsor would do justice to Grandma Buntain’s tea-set used on Sundays. But Bud could see the signs of Shipping Intelligence, and, as soon as she could, she hastened to the kitchen, for it was Saturday, and on Saturdays there were no lessons in the Dyce Academy. Oh! how she and Kate fondled the bottles lovingly, and sniffed passionately at their contents, and took turn about of the locket! The maid had but one regret, that she had no immediate use for Riga Balsam; but Bud was more devoted than that—she gently pricked the palm of her hand with a pin and applied the Genuine. “Oh! how he must love me—us, I mean,” she exclaimed, and eagerly devoured his letter.