"Yes," he answered; "yes, he's still living."
"That's a phase of life we haven't been privileged to see," my uncle remarked, concluding quite a lengthy silence; "indeed, we haven't seen anything of your Scottish life at all. I have often thought I'd love especially to see Edinburgh."
"I'd sooner see the shepherds on the hills," cried I. "I'd love to see the heather—and the mists rolling back over the mountains, like I've read about in Scott."
"Have you never been to the old world, Miss Helen?" our guest enquired of me.
"No, never," I replied; "I've never been from under the stars and stripes."
"But she's contemplating a European trip, Mr. Laird," Mr. Giddens broke in, looking very knowingly at me.
"Yes," chimed my mother, a playful smile lurking about her mouth, "perhaps you'll meet over there before very long."
Mr. Laird turned and looked at me. I know my face betrayed me. But if he put two and two together he didn't give us the result. "I hope you'll bring your mother with you when you come," was all he said.
"But Mrs. Randall's a poor sailor," quoth Charlie Giddens.
"So am I," was my remark.