Part 30 (1/2)
”I ha' been livin' in the family this monie and monie a year,” she said, ”an' I know the tale well, Miss. It's the auld, auld story of the twa bonnie la.s.sies and a braw laddie who could not decide which he liked best, blue eyes or brown. It was back and forth he was from one to other, 'til they was all three half distracted like, and there was a grand quarrel amongst 'em. Then one went awa' to the wars, and one went to her hame across the seas and one stayed in her ain countree. An'
that's the sum and gist of it. And if the three hearts bracht, it was even so G.o.d's will and the decree of Providence.”
”It doesn't sound like three brachet hearts,” remarked Billie, as the noise of talk and laughter floated down the hall.
Presently they were summoned back to the drawing-room where they were duly presented to Mr. David Ramsay. And a superb-looking old gentleman he was, indeed, as handsome as a picture. Not one of the Motor Maids but felt a special thrill, when he smiled and pressed her hand.
They talked until late in the afternoon and the party did not break up until Elinor had been prevailed upon to sit down at the tinkling little old piano, and, accompanying herself, sing:
”'Should auld acquaintance be forgot And never brought to min'?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot And days of auld lang syne?
”'We twa ha' rin aboot the braes An' pu'd the gowans fine, But we've wandered monie a weary fit Sin' auld lang syne.'”
CHAPTER XIX.-A RUN-DOWN HEEL AND WHAT CAME OF IT.
The Motor Maids had tasted the fine flavor of an old romance, and that in the very heart of the most romantic city in the world. And now, with the three friends united at last after nearly half a century's obstinate separation, they all departed on a wonderful excursion to the Scotch lakes. For nearly a week they lingered in that enchanting and historic country and quite forgot the affairs of the outside world.
The mystery that enshrouded Marie-Jeanne and her strange mother; their old friend, Telemac Kalisch, whom they liked and still half feared; Maria Cortinas and the handsome Lord Glenarm; Beatrice Colchester; and last of all the kidnapping of little Arthur,-all these persons and the incidents with which they somehow had been connected had been relegated to the backs of their minds.
On the day before they had departed to the lake country Feargus O'Connor, the one link which bound them to the early a.s.sociations of their journey, had resigned from his position as courier and general factotum and hastily left Edinburgh.
So it was that, having cut loose from all former connections, they returned to Edinburgh one Sat.u.r.day morning near the end of June, their minds crammed full of legends and history and scenery.
A disagreeable, drizzling rain was falling and the prospects from the hotel window were not of a cheerful character.
”Just the time for taking a nap,” Miss Campbell remarked after lunch and proceeded to retire to her room and lock the door.
Mary and Elinor followed her example, but those two indefatigable travelers, Billie and Nancy, were determined not to spend their last day in Edinburgh shut up in a hotel bedroom.
”With overshoes on, and a mackintosh and an umbrella, I could face a cloudburst,” Billie observed.
”When I am prepared for it, I really like the rain,” said Nancy.
”That's because your hair curls naturally. It's only people who have straight hair and try to curl it who dislike rain. Now, I don't mind it, because I don't bother to curl my hair. Once, years ago, a lady asked papa why he didn't have my hair curled, and he said, 'What! make a martyr of my daughter? You'll be asking me to have her ears pierced next.”
”I don't call it being martyred to have one's ears pierced,” said Nancy with subdued indignation.
Billie laughed. It was a great joke among the Motor Maids that Nancy had secretly had her ears pierced and bought a pair of pearl earrings.
”Confess, now, Nancy-Bell, didn't it hurt like forty?”
”Whither shall we go?” answered the other, pretending not to have heard the question. ”Shall we do the pictures and churches again or go to Holyrood Palace and nose around among old murders?”
”Heavens, no! Let's do the Old Town. Don't you think it would be rather interesting to skulk about that old place in the rain?”
Nancy a.s.sented and the two girls climbed up the steep slippery streets on a slumming expedition which Miss Campbell would certainly have forbidden had she been informed. The fine rain washed against their faces and the breeze from, the ocean tasted salty on their lips.
”This is truly a city built upon a hill,” said Billie. ”And what shall we do now we are here, Nancy? Can't you think of some excuse?”