“An’ yer new ane winna refuse ye the pleasure,” answered Nashon. “The braw folk o’ Eyrymount have invited me to dinner on Wednesday se’enight, and sent me a hunter for the chase, the morn, at the Shakin Bridge.”
“An’ will ye gang?” said Esther.
“Surely,” replied Nashon—“ordinary politeness seems to demand it; but what will I do for a huntin dress?”
“Yer ancestor’s scarlet coat winna disgrace his heir,” replied Esther. “It’s up i’ the leather kist, i’ the blue parlour yonder; an’ I’ll mak oot to get a len’ o’ a pair o’ boots frae Squire Hawthorn’s butler, wha’ll never let on the thing to his maister.”
Nashon smiled at the idea of borrowing a pair of boots; but pride had not yet in him attained that height which enables its votaries to look down with contempt on the obligation of a loan, and he chose to sport Squire Hawthorn’s boots and Squire Græme’s horse in the meantime, to gratify an object which would require still greater sacrifices. Next day, accordingly, he appeared at the rendezvous, where he in a short time was accosted by Eyrymount, who was accompanied by the proprietor of the under part of the neophyte’s habiliments.
“You will find this sport better than cony-hunting, Mr Heatherton,” said Eyrymount, laughing.
“Ou ay,” replied Nashon; “but I fear it’s mair expensive. I may become owre fond o’t, an’ the rents of Outfieldhaugh may scarcely haud agen the expense.”
“You cannot complain yet,” said Eyrymount, looking significantly at Springall.
“I should think not,” said Squire Hawthorn, looking as significantly at the boots.
“No,” replied Nashon, drawing up his leg a little, but immediately throwing it down again, with a jerk of the stirrup—“but I ken my weakness. I had nae less than nine terriers, ance, at Conybarns—a perfect pack; an’ I wadna wonder to see me hae as mony fox-hounds—ay, an’ maybe as mony hunters. I fear, Eyrymount, I maun lay a’ that cost at your door.”