This, of course, was Ronald's doing. There had been a question as to which of the maids were to bring in supper for so large a number; so he addressed himself to the young fellows who were standing about.
'You lazy laddies,' he said, 'what are ye thinking o'? Here's a chance for ye, if there's a pennyworth o' spunk among the lot o' ye. They lasses there wait on ye the whole year long, and make the beds for ye, and redd the house; I'm thinking ye might do worse than wait on them for one night, and bring in the supper when they sit down. They canna do both things; and the fun o' the night belongs to them or to nobody at all.'
At first there was a little shamefaced reluctance—it was 'lasses' work,' they said—until a great huge Highland tyke—a Ross-shire drover who happened to be here on a visit—a man of about six feet four, with a red beard big enough for a raven to build in, declared that he would lend a hand, if no one else did; and forthwith brought his huge fist down on the bar-room table to give emphasis to his words. There was some suspicion that this unwonted gallantry was due to the fact that he had a covetous eye on Jeannie, Donald Macrae's lass, who was a very superior dairy-mistress, and was also heir-presumptive to her father's farmstead and about a score of well-favoured cattle; but that was neither here nor there; he was as good as his word; he organised the brigade, and led it; and if he swallowed a stiff glass of whisky before setting out from the kitchen for the barn, with a steaming plate of soup in each hand, that was merely to steady his nerves and enable him to face the merriment of the whole gang of those girls. And then when this red-bearded giant of a Ganymede and his attendants had served every one, they fetched in their own plates, and sat down; and time was allowed them; for the evening was young yet, and no one in a hurry.
Now if Mr. Hodson had been rather doubtful lest his presence might produce some little restraint, he was speedily reassured, to his own great satisfaction, for he was really a most good-natured person and anxious to be friendly with everybody. In the general fun and jollity he was not even noticed; he could ask Mrs. Murray any questions he chose without suspicion of being observant; the young lady next him—who was Jeannie Macrae herself, and to whom he strove to be as gallant as might be—was very winsome and gentle and shy, and spoke in a more Highland fashion than he had heard yet; while otherwise he did not fare at all badly at this rustic feast, for there were boiled fowls and roast hares after the soup, and there was plenty of ale passed round, and tea for those who wished it. Nay, on the contrary, he had rather to push himself forward and assert himself ere he could get his proper share of the work that was going on. He insisted upon carving for at least half a dozen neighbours; he was most attentive to the pretty Highland girl next him; and laughed heartily at Mrs. Murray's Scotch stories, which he did not quite understand; and altogether entered into the spirit of the evening. But there was no doubt it was at the other end of the table that the fun was getting fast and furious; and just as little doubt that Ronald the keeper was suffering considerably at the hands of those ungrateful lasses for whom he had done so much. Like a prudent man, he held his tongue and waited his opportunity; taking their teasing with much good humour; and paying no heed to the other young fellows who were urging him to face and silence the saucy creatures. And his opportunity came in the most unexpected way. One of the girls, out of pure mischief, and without the least notion that she would be overheard, rapped lightly on the table, and said: 'Mr. Ronald Strang will now favour us with a song.' To her amazement and horror there was an almost instant silence; for an impression had travelled up the table that some announcement was about to be made.
'What is it now? What are you about down there?' their host called to them—and the silence, to her who had unwittingly caused it, was terrible.
But another of the girls, still bent on mischief, was bold enough to say.
'Oh, it's Ronald that's going to sing us a song.'
'Sing ye a song, ye limmer, ere ye're through with your supper?' Ronald said sharply. 'I'd make ye sing yourself—with a leather strap—if I had my will o' ye.'
But this was not heard up the table.
'Very well, then, Ronald,' the innkeeper cried, graciously. 'Come away with it now. There is no one at all can touch you at that.'