“Down, Topper, down! down, Lively, lass; come into heel, Swaney,” cried Donald McAllister, as he approached his tenants. “Good-mornin’, miss; mornin’, gentlemen. The Ben has on its nightcap, but I’m thinkin’ it’ll soon take it off.”
Donald McAllister’s English was excellent, but he spoke in a slow, deliberate manner, and with a slightly nasal drawl, which sounded very peculiar in the ears of the Sudberrys,—just as peculiar, in fact, as their speech sounded in the ears of McAllister.
“Ah! you call the white cloud on the mountain-top a nightcap?—good, very good,” cried Mr Sudberry, rubbing his hands. “What a charming place this is, a paradisaical place, so to speak. The dogs won’t bite, will they?” said he, patting the alarmed Jacky on the head.
“No fear o’ the dogs, sir,” returned McAllister; “they’re like lambs. It’s just their way. Ye’ll be for a row on the loch the day, no doot.” The Highlander addressed this remark to George and Fred.
“What!” exclaimed the former, “is there a boat that we can have the use of?”
“’Deed is there, a good safe boat too, that can hold the whole of ye. I’ll show you where the oars lie after breakfast.”
“Capital,” cried Mr Sudberry, rubbing his hands.
“Charming,” exclaimed Lucy, with sparkling eyes.
Master Jacky expressed his glee with a characteristic cheer or yell, that at once set fire to the easily inflamed spirits of the dogs, causing them to resume their excited gambols and furious barking. This effectually stopped the conversation for five minutes.
“I delight in boating,” observed Fred, when McAllister had quelled the disturbance.