Part 9 (2/2)
Donal stood to receive him.
”I presume you are unaware that these grounds are not open to the public!” he said, not without a touch of haughtiness.
”I beg your pardon, sir,” said Donal. ”I found the gate open, and the shade of the trees was enticing.”
”It is of no consequence,” returned the youth, now with some condescension; ”only my father is apt to be annoyed if he sees any one--”
He was interrupted by a cry from farther up the hill--
”Oh, there you are, Percy!”
”And there you are, Davie!” returned the youth kindly.
A boy of about ten came towards them precipitately, jumping stumps, and darting between stems.
”Take care, take care, Davie!” cried the other: ”you may slip on a root and fall!”
”Oh, I know better than that!--But you are engaged!”
”Not in the least. Come along.”
Donal lingered: the youth had not finish his speech!
”I went to Arkie,” said the boy, ”but she couldn't help me. I can't make sense of this! I wouldn't care if it wasn't a story.”
He had an old folio under one arm, with a finger of the other hand in its leaves.
”It is a curious taste for a child!” said the youth, turning to Donal, in whom he had recognized the peasant-scholar: ”this little brother of mine reads all the dull old romances he can lay his hands on.”
”Perhaps,” suggested Donal, ”they are the only fictions within his reach! Could you not turn him loose upon sir Walter Scott?”
”A good suggestion!” he answered, casting a keen glance at Donal.
”Will you let me look at the pa.s.sage?” said Donal to the boy, holding out his hand.
The boy opened the book, and gave it him. On the top of the page Donal read, ”The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia.” He had read of the book, but had never seen it.
”That's a grand book!” he said.
”Horribly dreary,” remarked the elder brother.
The younger reached up, and laid his finger on the page next him.
”There, sir!” he said; ”that is the place: do tell me what it means.”
”I will try,” answered Donal; ”I may not be able.”
He began to read at the top of the page.
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