They were right. Flora, jumping out of the furs of a vehicle which resembled a slipper-bath, and was drawn by four panting dogs, ran into the hut, exclaiming, “Dear father,” and threw her arms round the neck of the elder McLeod, who was not slow to return the embrace. Elise entered with smiling face, and curtsied to the young men, who advanced and shook her heartily by the hand.
“Hould their hids, Mister Kenneth,” exclaimed the driver of the foremost sleigh, as he sought to undo the traces of the dogs. “Sure they’re all alike—horses or dogs, they never will lay still when they’re wanted to; bad luck to ’em intirely. Me heart is all but broke. There—git along wid ye.”
“Don’t be hard on them, Rooney,” said Kenneth, laughing, “they seem to have done good service.”
“True for ye,” replied Rooney, “it wouldn’t have bin aisy to git the ladies down here widout ’em, the snow was so soft wi’ the thaw that it nigh tore the snow-shoes off me feet, an’ my poor legs is at laist three inches longer than whin I set out, if not four.”
“Well, Flo,” said Ian, “although I know you to be a resolute girl, I didn’t believe you would undertake a journey over a country without a road at such a season of the year.”
“I knew she would come,” said her father, patting the girl’s head tenderly, “but didn’t expect her quite so soon.”
“That’s just the reason why I came,” said Flora, bustling about the room in search of a reasonably clean spot on which to deposit her fur cap and muff; “I wanted to take you by surprise, you dear old duck. Here, Elise, take these things and put them on a bed, or something of that sort, if there is one in the house. I declare there is not a spot in this room that is not covered with smoke and grease. How can you be so dirty? It is high time that Elise and I came to put your house in order. You needn’t laugh, Kenneth, you ought to be ashamed of yourselves. This is dinner-time, I fancy. Have you any to spare for us? Let me see—but stay; first tell me how you have been and what you have done, and—”
“Please, Miss,” said the maid, returning from a little side-room, “there isn’t a spot clean enough to put your things on. The beds are no better than the chairs and tables.”
“Oh you dirty thing!” said Flora, seating herself on her father’s knee, and gazing remonstratively into his face.
A quiet smile played on the dark visage of the elder McLeod as he kissed her and said:—