"Dooms little, sir," replied the laird. "They daurna cheep. Monk has gotten his heel fairly on their necks; so that deil a ane o' them can wag either tongue or finger. There's a wheen o' them taen to the hills wi' Glencairn and Balcarras; but what can they do? Naething. It's a puir thing to be in that way, sir. I had a trial o' that mysel. Tak my word for't, that sleepin in a moss hag, or in the lee o' a whin-bush, and leevin upon lavrocks, or raw turnips and bog-water, is nae better than it's ca'ed."
"Well, well, laird, I hope times will mend with our poor friends in Scotland," replied the young cavalier, to whom this picture of the sufferings of the royalists, notwithstanding the strong tincture it exhibited of the speaker's natural humour, seemed to give much pain. "I hope times will mend with them yet, and that feasting and feather-beds will make them forget the raw turnips and whin-bushes ye speak of. In the meantime, my good friend, push round the bottle, and let us talk of other matters; for these make me sad."
Nothing loth, the Laird of Lucky's How filled up a brimming bumper, and, drinking "better times," sent it down after some two or three dozen that had preceded it.
The party were now getting into high glee. The laugh, the joke, and the bottle went merrily round, and the merriest, and apparently the most jovial of the company, was the young gentleman whom we have hitherto represented as expressly attaching himself to the laird, and whose name, as the latter learned from himself, was Jones. This roysterer was the life and soul of the company, when roystering became the order of the evening; but his mirth was tempered with a gentleness of demeanour, and an air of polished hilarity, if such a phrase may be permitted, as inspired the idea of the presence of a perfect gentleman. His whole manner, in short, was exceedingly captivating. His fancy was ready and playful; his wit brilliant and appropriate; and the affability and winning character of his smile irresistible. Altogether, he was a most delightful companion, and admirably calculated to figure in such circumstances as those in which he was now placed. How he might acquit himself in a scene of a more grave and serious character, it would not perhaps have been easy to guess.
The mirth of the party in the kitchen of the Drouthsloken had just attained its height, when a circumstance occurred which did not affect its humour, but somewhat changed its character. This was the entrance of two of the landlord's daughters. Dressed in the neat and simple, although somewhat peculiar, costume of their country, with their hair tightly braided up, and bound with a broad silver frontlet, so as to exhibit in bold relief the contour of their full and fair countenances, two prettier girls than Juliana and Joan Vander Tromp were not within the walls of the Hague.
As they entered the kitchen, to which they had come merely, or, perhaps, we should have said ostensibly, to look after some household affairs, the girls curtsied slightly but gracefully to the company by which it was occupied, and, smiling pleasantly and good-naturedly the while, passed on to the upper end of the apartment, and began to occupy themselves in some little domestic duties. They had not, however, been permitted to enter unnoticed. On their appearance, the whole party got up from their seats, and acknowledged their presence by a gallant greeting; and in this courtesy, Mr Jones again shone pre-eminent by the greater grace and deeper devotion he displayed in his chivalrous welcome to the fair visitors.
It might have been observed, too, that to him, in turn, were the curtsies and the looks also of the young ladies most especially directed; but in this case these were associated with a degree of respect for which it would not have been easy to account.
"What think ye of our fair Netherlanders, laird?" said Mr Jones to the latter, in a half whisper, when the ladies' attention was, or seemed to be, engrossed by their occupation. "Will they not match your Scotch lasses, think you?"
"That's a pair o' braw queans, I maun allow," replied the laird. "Just twa as bonny bits o' lassocks as ane wad wish to see; but I think they want the complexion—they haena the blume o' our kilted heather trampers. They want the caller red that the norland breeze puts on the cheeks o' our Scottish gilpies. That's my humble opinion, sir. But they're twa bonny lassocks, for a' that. Nae doot o't."
"On the score of complexion I grant ye, laird, they are, perhaps, deficient a little, but I think this amply compensated by the intellectual expression, the fine contour, and the softer and more intense lustre of the eye. I have seen your Scottish maidens, laird, and admired them in my time."