“What?—What is it?” cried his lady.
“Glorious news!” cried Inverawe, rubbing his hands. “I am appointed to the majority of the Highlanders; and here is an ensign’s commission for you, young gentleman,” said he, addressing George Campbell. “And my friend Grant, who writes to me, tells me that he has got the lieutenant-colonelcy. What can be more delightful than the prospect of serving in such a corps, under the command of so old a friend?”
“Glorious!—glorious!” cried young George Campbell, jumping from his chair, and dancing through the room with joy.
“A bumper to the gallant Highlanders, and their brave commander!” cried Inverawe, filling the cups.
The toast was quaffed with enthusiasm. Young Inverawe alone seemed to feel that there was no joy in the cup for him.
“Would I had a commission too!” said he, in a tone of extreme vexation.
“Boy,” said Inverawe, gravely, “Your time is coming. It will be well for you to stay at home to look after your mother. One of us two is enough in the field at once.”
“Am I then to be doomed to sloth and idleness at home?” said Donald, pettishly; “better put petticoats on me at once, and give me a distaff to wield.”
“Speak not so, Donald,” said his mother, in a trembling voice. “You are hardly old enough for such warlike undertakings; and, indeed, your father says what is but too true—for what could I do, were both of you to be torn from me?”
Donald said no more. The cup circulated. George Campbell was in high spirits, and full of happy anticipations.