“Why,” answered the Keeper, with some hesitation, “the room was fitted up in our absence, and cedant arma togæ is the maxim of lawyers, you know: I am afraid it has been here somewhat too literally complied with. I hope—I believe they are safe, I am sure I gave orders; may I hope that when they are recovered, and put in proper order, you will do me the honour to accept them at my hand, as an atonement for their accidental derangement?”
The Master of Ravenswood bowed stiffly, and, with folded arms, again resumed his survey of the room.
Henry, a spoilt boy of fifteen, burst into the room, and ran up to his father. “Think of Lucy, papa; she has come home so cross and so fractious, that she will not go down to the stable to see my new pony, that Bob Wilson brought from the Mull of Galloway.”
“I think you were very unreasonable to ask her,” said the Keeper.
“Then you are as cross as she is,” answered the boy; “but when mamma comes home, she’ll claw up both your mittens.”
“Hush your impertinence, you little forward imp!” said his father; “where is your tutor?”
“Gone to a wedding at Dunbar; I hope he’ll get a haggis to his dinner”; and he began to sing the old Scottish song:
“There was a haggis in Dunbar,
Fal de ral, &c.
Mony better and few waur,
Fal de ral,” &c.
“I am much obliged to Mr. Cordery for his attentions,” said the Lord Keeper; “and pray who has had the charge of you while I was away, Mr. Henry?”
“Norman and Bob Wilson, forbye my own self.”