“’Pon honour, madam, I have not him secreted on my person,” returned the Major, gravely turning inside out his pockets for her.
The spirited old lady glowered at him.
“It’s ill setting ye to be sae humoursome,” she told him frankly. “It wad be better telling ye to answer ceevilly a ceevil question, my birkie.”
“If I can be of any service, madam——”
“Humph, service! And that’s just it, my mannie. The ill-faured tykes hae rampaigned through the house and taen awa’ my bonnie silver tea service that I hae scoured every Monday morning for thirty-seven years come Michelmas, forby the fine Holland linen that my father, guid carefu’ man, brought frae the continent his nainsel.”
“I am sorry——”
“Sorry! Hear till him,” she snorted. “Muckle guid your sorrow will do me unless——” her voice fell to a wheedling cajolery—“you just be a guid laddie and get me back my linen and the silver.”
“The Duke has a partiality for fine bed linen, and quaint silver devices are almost a mania with him. Perhaps some of your other possessions”—
“His Dutch officers ate me out of house and home. They took awa’ eight sacks of the best lump sugar.”
“The army is in need of sugar. I fear it is not recoverable.”