“I was fearful ye wud not keep your promise,” said he: “my youngsters ha’ been on the look-out for you for this hour.”
Here he pushed the giggling youngsters forward, in the shape of two bouncing, rosy-faced school-girls, who were playing at bo-peep behind papa’s broad blue back, and whose red cheeks grew crimson with blushes as he presented them to his guests.
James Hawke seemed to think the merry girls, who were of his own age, well worth looking at, if you might judge by the roguish sparkling of his fine black eyes, as he bounded off with them to be introduced to the strawberry-beds, and all the other attractions of the worthy citizen’s garden.
It was a large, old-fashioned house, which had seen better days, and stood on a steep sloping hill, commanding a beautiful view of Edinburgh. The grand old mountain loomed in the distance, and the bright Forth, with all its wealth of white sails, glittered in the rays of the declining sun.
“What a delightful situation!” exclaimed Flora, as her eye ranged over the beautiful scene.
“Ay, ’tis a bonnie place,” said Mr. Gregg, greatly exalted in his own eyes, as master of the premises;—“an’ very healthy for the bairns. I often walked past this old house when I was but a ’prentice lad in the High-street, o’ Sunday afternoons, and used to peep through the pales, and admire the old trees, an’ fruits, an’ flowers; an’ I thought if I had sic a braw place of my ain, I should think mysel richer than a crow’ed king. I was a puir callant in those days. It was only a dream, a fairy dream; yet here I am, master of the auld house, and the pretty gardens. Industry and prudence, my dear madam—industry and prudence, has done it all, and converted my air-built castle into substantial brick and stane.”
Flora admired the old man’s honest pride. She had thought him coarse and vulgar, while in reality he was only what the Canadians term homely; for his heart was brimful of kindly affections and good feeling. There was not a particle of pretence about him,—of forced growth or refined cultivation; a genuine product of the soil, a respectable man in every sense of the word. Proud of his country, and doubly proud of the wealth he had acquired by honest industry. A little vain and pompous, perhaps, but most self-made men are so: they are apt to overrate the talents which have lifted them out of obscurity, and to fancy that the world estimates their worth and importance by the same standard as they do themselves.
In the house, they were introduced to Mrs. Gregg, who was just such a person as her husband had described: a cheerful, middle-aged woman, very short, very stout, and very hospitable. Early as it was, the tea-table was loaded with good cheer. Large strawberries preserved whole, and that pet sweetmeat of the Scotch, orange marmalade, looked tempting enough, in handsome dishes of cut glass, flanked by delicious home-made bread and butter, cream, cheese, and sweet curds.
A tall, fine-looking woman, very gaily dressed, was presented to the Lyndsays as Mrs. M’Nish, a married daughter. Her husband was a loud-voiced, large-whiskered consequential-looking young man, whose good humour and admiration of himself, his wife, his father and mother-in-law, and the big house, appeared inexhaustible. His young wife seemed to look upon him as something super-human; and to every remark she made, she appealed to Wullie, as she called him, for his verdict of approval.
Little Josey, who made one of the party, was soon on the most intimate terms with the family group. The young married woman, after bestowing upon her many kisses, passed her over to her husband, telling him, with a little laugh, “that she wondered if he would make a good nurse: it was time for him to commence practising.” Then she blushed and giggled, and the old man chuckled and rubbed his knees, and the mother looked up with a quiet smile as the jolly bridegroom burst into a loud laugh. “Ay, Jean my woman, it’s time enough to think o’ troubles when they come.” And then he tossed Miss Josey up to the ceiling with such vigorous jerks, that Flora watched his gymnastics in nervous fear lest the child should fall out of his huge grasp and break her neck.