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"It will and shall," we rejoined; and it did. 'The ladies wrang their fingers white, The maidens tore their hair. "Do tear your hair, Jessie! It's the only thing you have to do, and you never do it on time!" The Wrig made ready to howl with offended pride, but we soothed her, and she tore her yellow curls with her chubby hands.
"You can stay till you have to come down and be a dead Scots lord. I'm not going to lie there as I did last time, with nobody but the Wrig for a Scots lord, and her forgetting to be dead!" Sir Apple-Cheek then essayed the hard part 'chucked up' by Rafe. It was rather difficult, I confess, as the first four lines were in pantomime, and required great versatility:
Jamie, Miss Hamilton and Miss Monroe from the United States of America." Sir Apple-Cheek bowed respectfully. "Let me present the Honourable Ralph Ardmore, also from the castle, together with Dandie Dinmont and the Wrig from Crummylowe. Sir Patrick, it is indeed a pleasure to see you again. Must you take off my gown? I had thought it was past use, but it never looked so well before." "YOUR gown?"
These two looked as if they might be scions of the aristocracy, while Dandie and the Wrig were fat little yokels of another sort.
"No, no!" cried somebody; "it must be still higher at this end, for the tower this is where the king will sit. Help me with this heavy one, Rafe. Dandie, mind your foot. Why don't you be making the flag for the ship? and do keep the Wrig away from us till we finish building!"
"No," he answered gravely; "it's a great help, of course, to know it, but it isn't necessary. I keep the words in my pocket to prompt Dandie, and the Wrig can only say two lines, she's so little." Rafe is the king, and Dandie is the 'eldern knight, you remember him?" "Certainly; he sat at the king's right knee." "Yes, yes, that's the one!
The wreck was more horribly realistic than ever, this time, because of our rehearsal; and when I crawled from under the masts and sails to seat myself on the beach with the Wrig, I had scarcely strength enough to remove the cooky from her hand and set her a-combing her curly locks.
Then Rafe is Sir Patrick part of the time, and I the other part, because everybody likes to be him; but there's nobody left for the 'lords o' Noroway' or the sailors, and the Wrig is the only maiden to sit on the shore, and she always forgets to comb her hair and weep at the right time." The sun shone on her curly flaxen head.
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