Chapter II.
“Weel, doctor, is it a’ richt wi’ the Laird?” inquired Mr Barlas when I returned to the Cross-Keys.
“Yes,” I rejoined, “it’s all right. Laird Ramsay is now my warmest and staunchest supporter, and a most companionable old gentleman he is.”
“I never heard the like o’ that,” said the landlord, lifting up his eyebrows in astonishment. “’Od, doctor, ye’re jist like that auld Roman reiver, Cæsar, wha gaed aboot seein’ and conquerin’. Ye hae a clear coast noo, when ye hae gotten the gudewill o’ the Laird and the minister. An’ what think ye o’ the dochter? Isna she a comely lass, Miss Ramsay?”
“She is, indeed, Mr Barlas,” I replied. “The young lady seems to do her best to make her father feel happy and comfortable, and I have no doubt that many ‘braw wooers’ will frequently find their way to the Haugh.”
“Na, doctor, na. As I tell’t ye afore, the Laird is unco fond o’ Miss Jessie, an’ I dinna believe he would pairt wi’ her to the best man i’ the kintra-side. But ye hae sic an uncommon power o’ comin’ roond folk that I wouldna wonner to see ye tryin’t yersel.”
“Stranger things have happened, Mr Barlas,” I rejoined. “Meantime, my mind is made up to settle down in St Dunstan. I like the place and the people, the Eildon Hills, the Tweed, and Laird Ramsay.”
“No to speak o’ his dochter,” interjected mine host with a knowing look.
“But where,” I continued, “am I to take up my quarters?”
“Ye needna put yersel in a peck o’ troubles aboot that, doctor. There’s Dr Sommerville’s cottage just waitin’ for ye alang the road a bit. It’s a commodious hoose, wi’ trees roond it an’ a bonny garden at the back, slopin’ to the south. Dr Sommerville was fond o’ flowers, an’ I never saw a pleasanter place than it was in simmer. But the fac’ is, ye’ll hae to tak it, doctor, because there’s no anither hoose to let in the hale toun.”