‘Maister Effingham!’ said the old dame, in accents of such unfeigned surprise and disapproval that all three men burst out laughing. ‘Eh, ye’re jist laughin’ at the auld woman, ye bad laddie; but ye ken weel that ye hae my blessing; and may the mercy and guidance o’ the Lord God of Israel bring ye a’ safe hame to your freends and relations—my gentlemen and a’, as I’m prayin’ for’t—and a bonnie day it will be when we see ye a’ back again—no forgetten that daft Neil Barrington, that gies me as muckle trouble as the hail o’ ye pitten thegither.’
At the conclusion of this farewell ceremony with Mrs. Teviot, who indeed took a most maternal interest in the whole company, they hied themselves at once to the dining-room.
‘So you are to join our party, Mr. O’More?’ said Hamilton. ‘You could not have come at a better time to understand our bush life.’
‘Awfully glad of the chance, I assure you,’ said that gentleman. ‘It was the hope of something of the sort that brought me out. If this affair had not been on, I should have fancied I had been induced to come to a new country under false pretences.’
‘Why so?’ asked Forbes.
‘Because you are all so unpardonably civilised. I expected to sit upon wooden stools and eat biscuits and beef, to sleep in the open air, and to be returning fire with my pistols as I came up from the wharf. Instead of which (I will take turkey, if you please) I find myself here, at The Chase, and half-a-dozen other houses in the lap of luxury.’
‘Oh, come!’ said Forbes deprecatingly, ‘are you not flavouring the compliment a little too strongly?’
‘I think Mr. O’More comes from the Emerald Isle,’ said Ardmillan. ‘May I ask if you have ever kissed the Blarney stone?’
‘Of course; all Irishmen make a point of it. It abates their naturally severe tendencies. But joking apart, all you people live as well as most of us in the old country. Wilfred here can bear me out. If claret was a little more fashionable, I don’t see a pin to choose.’
‘There will be a change of fare when we’re on the road,’ said Fred Churbett. ‘Who knows when we shall see pale ale again? The thought is anguish; and those confounded pack-horses carry so little.’