I felt, rather than saw, the consternation that came on every face.
"What did you say about your father?" my uncle asked involuntarily, looking up impulsively from his plate. Now, uncle was a gentleman, if ever one was born, but this intimation fairly swept him off his feet. "You were speaking about your father, were you not?" he amended, thinking the question more delicate in this form.
"Yes," said Mr. Laird, evidently quite unconscious of having caused a sensation. "I was saying my father is a shepherd. He takes care, along with other herds, of the gentlemen's flocks in Scotland—in Midlothian. The shepherd gets so many sheep for himself each year—that's part of his hire, you see."
"Yes, yes, I see," rejoined my uncle. "Have some more of the ice-cream, Mr. Laird. Washington, pass the ice-cream to the gentleman." It was funny, had it not been so real, to see uncle's consternation. This was something new to my patrician relative.
"Do let me help you to a little more of this chocolate cake," broke in my aunt.
"And your coffee cup is empty," added my mother. Both showed the sudden perturbation that had laid hold of uncle, for which the only outlet was this sudden freshet of hospitality.
"No, thank you," our guest answered quietly, "I've had quite enough—you Southerners would soon kill a man with kindness. Yes," he went on, resuming the interrupted theme, "the catechism goes well with the shepherd's crook; if there's any one calling in the world that's been productive of plain living and high thinking, it's the shepherd's."
"Half of that programme appeals to me," laughed Charlie Giddens, helping himself generously to the chocolate cake. "I'm afraid I'd make a poor shepherd." Charlie seemed unable to keep his eyes from Mr. Laird's face; this candour of biography was quite beyond him.
"But it's a fact," our Scotch visitor went on quite earnestly; "it's wonderful the difference there has been, as a class, between the shepherds and the ploughmen, in Scotland. The shepherds have been so much superior; their eyes were constantly lifted to the hills, you see, and the others had to keep theirs on the ground. Besides, their work developed a sense of responsibility—and it took a tender man to make a good shepherd. Oh, yes, the shepherds of Scotland have been a noble race of men."
"And your father is still living in Scotland?" enquired my mother from across the table.