“Thank ye, thank ye, good Bill Dallas!” cried the lady, clapping her hands in an ecstasy of joy; “you shall not fail to do that; but why did you not tell me this joyful news before? Stay, my good man—here is for your happy tidings!” and, running to a corner cupboard, she brought out a bottle of brandy, and filled him a tasse, that made his eyes dance in his head after he had tossed it off.
“My certy, that’s prime stuff indeed,” said Dallas, panting with the very strength of it. “And noo, mem, will ye look at my pack.—I hae some o’ the grandest jewels, rings, chains, watches, and brooches—the gayest ribbans—and, aboon a’, the bonniest lace,—ye never saw siccan lace. The captain said he was quite sure it wad tak your ee, for that you had siccan a fine taste. Troth, says I till him, you’re no far wrang there, captain; Mistress MacArthur has the best taste and joodgement in lace o’ a’ my customers, north or sooth—north or sooth, said I. It’s quite beautifou lace, mem, as ye’ll say when ye see’t; and sae cheap, too! Od, I’m sellin’ it for half nothin’. Shall I bring the pack ben here, mem?—ye’ll hae mair light here.”
“No—no—no!—not at present, Will,” cried the Pensassenach, her patience quite exhausted with his prolixity. “Another time Will—but I have other fish to fry at present. Morag!—Morag, girl! run! call out all the men! My stars, how unfortunate it is that MacArthur is from home! How he would rejoice! Call all the men, I say!”
“Fat vas she cryin’ aboot?” said Morag, hurrying to answer her call.
“Run and call all the men, I tell you, girl!” cried the Pensassenach, bustling about, all life and activity, and her indisposition entirely forgotten. “Call all the men I say; and John Smith in particular. I want John Smith here immediately. What glorious news! There wont be a rascally rebel knave of them left in the whole country. And my brother John coming too! Who knows but we may have the honour of being presented to his Royal Highness the Duke of Cumberland in person! How provoking it is that MacArthur is from home!”
“Fat wad ta leddy be wantin’ wi’ her?” said John Smith, at that moment putting his head into the room, his Kilmarnock cowl, and the disordered state of the covering of so much of the upper part of his person as was visible, sufficiently indicating that he had been roused from his bed. “Fat wad ta leddy be wantin’? We wus a’ beddit.”
“Run, John!” cried the impatient lady, “run and make all the people get out of their beds directly! collect every one, man and woman, about the farm. Make them yoke all the carts, and drive a whole peat-stack to the head of the knoll, and build up a large bonfire, and see that you mix your layers of peats with layers of moss-fir, and dry furze-bushes. I’ll have a blaze that shall be seen from Forres to Inverness. Have we any tar-barrels left?”
“Ou aye!” replied John; “a tar barrels tat was ower mockell fan we last tar ta sheeps.”
“Then put the whole tar-barrel in the midst of all,” cried the Pensassenach. “Come, John, why do you stand staring so? run, man, and do as I bid you, without a moment’s delay.”
“Ou aye, aye, she’s runnin’ fast,” replied John, slowly moving away. “Fod, but she’s thinks tat ta Pensassenach be gaen taft awtagedder.”