“Oh, for heaven’s sake, William, try again—shout as loud as you are able.”
“Hillo! hillo! hillo!”
“What’s the matter?” exclaimed the voice of the new proprietor himself, at the same moment that his head appeared at the window.
“Here we are, sir,” replied Copus, “half-dead with fear and hunger, and yet can’t get into our own house for love or money.”
“I’ll open the door myself,” said the chieftain, and putting for the nonce his newly acquired dignity into his pocket, he waddled through the blustering passages, and turned the key with his own hand.
“And this, then, is Ben-na-Groich Castle,” sighed Miss Alice, as at length she entered the parlour, leaning on the arm of her niece, and looking round with a dolorous expression that would have furnished a study for a picture of despair.
“Even so,” replied her brother, with an attempt at a joyous chuckle that died off into a groan.
“Oh, brother Ben—since Ben-na-Groich you insist on being called—oh, brother Ben, what tempted you to buy such a place as this?—in such a country?—among such hideous people?”
“Partly a bad debt that the late owner was on our books—partly a desire to be a regular chief, and astonish the Huxtables; but cheer up, sister, things will be better in a day or two. We shall all put on our tartans—cheer up you too, niece Jane, Charles Hobbins will be here ere long; I’ve got some clothes ready for him too, and intend to give him a black feather, and make him as good a downy-whistle as you can desire.”
“Ah, brother!” interposed Miss Alice, “that would have been all very well a short time ago, and it would have been delightful to see you with your henchman, and jellies, and downy-whistles—but ’tis too late now. Oh, brother! we are doomed to destruction. Copus will tell you what he has seen this very day.”