But I would not keep the old man any longer in suspense.
“I fear, Birkenbog,” I said, “that you have given yourself a bootless journey. From what I suspect, your flown bird will be nested nearer home.”
“Where?” he cried; “tell me the scoundrel’s name.”
“Fairly and soothly, Birkenbog,” said I, “peace is best among near friends—not to speak of kinsfolk!”
“Aye,” said he, “fairly and soothly be it! But I have to ken first that it is fairly and soothly. Who is the man?”
“I do not know for certain,” I said, “but I have every reason to believe that your daughter is at this moment Mistress Thomas Gallaberry of Ewebuchts, on the Water of Ae!”
“Oh, the limmer,” he cried, and started up as if to fly at me again. His face was indeed a study. First there appeared the usual hot wrath, overlapping in ruddy fold on fold, and revealing the owner’s full-fed intent to punish. This gradually gave way to a look of humorous appreciation, and then all of a sudden, he slapped his thigh in an agony of joyous appreciation.
“Oh, the limmer,” he cried, “only a week since my kinsman Tam Gallaberry asks me brave and canny for the lend of five hundred to stock his Back Hill. He offered decent enough security, and as usual I took Charlotte’s opinion on the business. For it’s her that has the great head for the siller. Oh yes, she has that. And as soon as they gat the tocher, he’s off wi’ the lassie. Certes, but he is the cool hand.”
“If you allow me to judge, I should say the cool hand was Charlotte!” I ventured.
“Right, man,” he cried, “little do I doubt it! Tam Gallaberry has led a grey mare to his stable that will prove the better horse, and that he will ken before he is a fortnight older.”