It was quite a romantic scene altogether, with a slight touch of the ludicrous. There was the girl hanging on Dalzell's arm, half-fainting, her head hanging back, her bonnet off, and her long, fair hair floating in the breeze; while hysterical sobs of joy burst from her every now and then; my little George roaring might and main, and sobbing out, "Naughty man! bite Nelly;" Dalzell, pale and agitated, alternately kissing her cheek and hugging her to his bosom; my wife crying; Tom Telford whirling round and round, waving his hat over his head, and flourishing his empty sleeve in the air; and I, the most sensible person in the group, standing staring in delighted astonishment at this pleasing and unexpected denouement. After the first excitement occasioned by this unlooked-for meeting was over, we all returned to the house, eager to hear Grace Douglas's account of her adventures.
Before she begins, however, I must beg the reader's patience till I relate how she happened to be in my service. About a twelvemonth before, my wife was obliged to part with her nurserymaid, in consequence of her repeated acts of misconduct; and, not being able to replace her in the neighbourhood, she begged me to advertise for one in the public prints. In answer to this advertisement, a young and very lovely woman presented herself, whose appearance immediately prepossessed us in her favour. Her manners were mild and gentle, and such as were little to be expected in one in her rank of life. When asked for a character, she replied that she had never been in service; that she was an orphan, and had none to recommend her; that, if we liked to try her, she hoped and trusted she would give us satisfaction—at least no endeavour should be wanting on her part. She declined giving any account of her family, merely saying that adverse circumstances had obliged her to resort to this means of seeking a subsistence. She did not care about wages; all that she wished for was protection and a comfortable home. My wife, much as she was pleased with her appearance and manner, was unwilling to make what she considered the dangerous experiment of engaging an unknown character; but I overruled her objections, in which I was materially assisted by mamma's darling, little George, who, attracted by the mild countenance and sweet voice of the stranger, clung to her side, and cried for her to remain. My wife could not resist the appeal; and Ellen Stewart, as she wished to be called, became one of our family, and soon proved herself worthy of our confidence. The substance of her previous history, as she related it to Dalzell, was as follows:—
A succession of bad crops, and of unfortunate farming speculations, had obliged her father to give up the farm in which they had so long lived happily together. His health had been long declining; and, when he died, she was left almost destitute. She had a maternal aunt, who was willing and anxious to share with her her trifling pittance; but she was determined not to be a burden on one who was hardly able to support herself. At this time our advertisement met her eye, and she immediately hastened to answer it—resolved, under an assumed name, to submit to the duties of a menial station, which she was sure, if her poor but proud aunt were let into the secret, she would indignantly oppose. She had
written to her aunt, to assure her of her welfare, but without disclosing the name of her place of abode. She had had, before her father died, two very eligible offers of marriage, which she rejected; for she felt sure, she said, that her own Edward would return. Three weeks afterwards, the long-tried constancy of the lovers was rewarded—mutually rewarded; for they were worthy of each other. I had the pleasure of giving away the bride; and honest Tom enjoyed an extra glass of his favourite grog on the occasion, by way of "wetting his commission," as he called it—Dalzell having installed him as a kind of Jack-of-all-trades in his new establishment. The only drawback to his perfect happiness was, that he never lived to see his master an admiral.
THE GOOD MAN OF DRYFIELD.
"To Let, the Mansion-house of Dryfield. This is a small, genteel, self-contained house, beautifully situated on the banks of the Clyde, with large garden and seven acres of fine arable land attached. Rent moderate. Premises will be shown, and other particulars given, by Mr Pentland, farmer, Minnigrain, near Dryfield, who is also empowered to transact all matters relative to the letting of the house and grounds."
Such, good reader, was an advertisement that appeared in the "Caledonian Mercury" some six-and-twenty years ago. Well, but what on earth has an advertisement of this sort to do with the Border Tales? Patience, kind friend—patience; and, as a certain humorous song—whose title we have forgotten—says, "you shall hear." This advertisement, commonplace as it may seem, possessed some interest for me at the time it appeared; for at that very moment I was commissioned, by a friend then resident in Jamaica, but who was contemplating an immediate return to his native country, to look out for exactly such a place as that described in the announcement above quoted.
Having some recollection of the place myself, which I had casually seen several years before, as I passed on the top of the mail, I felt convinced that it was precisely such a residence as my friend desired. Under this impression, I determined on paying Dryfield a visit, and making a personal survey of the premises. Conform thereto, the following morning found me on the top of the mail. In six hours afterwards, I was at Minnigrain, and in the presence of its worthy occupant, Mr Pentland. He was a decent, substantial-looking farmer—plain and unsophisticated in his manners, intelligent, and shrewd, with a spice of humour about him which he seemed to have some difficulty in controlling.
Having mentioned to Mr Pentland the purpose of my visit, and my wish to take a look of Dryfield and its premises, he instantly accompanied me thither—having previously provided himself with a couple of keys: one to procure us access to the garden, through which it was necessary to pass to reach the house; the other to admit us to the house itself.