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Updated: May 12, 2025
Haco deigned no reply, but turned to Gildart and held out his hand. "You've not gone to stay at Cove yet, I see," said Gildart. "Not yet, lad, but I go to-night at nine o'clock. You see Mrs Gaff is a-goin' to visit a relation for a week, an' wants me to take care o' the house, the boodwar, as she calls it, though why she calls it by that name is more than I can tell.
Gildart addressed himself to the red-haired man; the policeman devoted himself to the one with the beard; and Kenneth paid particular attention to the gentlemanly burglar, whose expression of countenance on beholding into whose hands he had fallen, may be conceived, but cannot be described.
"Why to my father's?" asked Gildart. "Because, after your father and Miss Gordon were exposed to such unwonted fatigue, I wish to inquire for them personally." "Humph! you're not satisfied with my assurance that they are well?" "Not quite, my boy," said Kenneth, with a smile; "I wish to have the assurance from the lips of your sweet cousin." "Whew! in love!" exclaimed Gildart.
"How d'ye know that, lass?" said I, coming down-stairs at the moment; "not a few of my friends think that I go much too fast for this century so fast, indeed, that they seem to wonder that I have not ridden ahead of them into the next! How d'ye do, Kenneth? Gildart was not long of finding you out, I see."
Before the answer could be given the door opened, and a smart handsome youth of apparently eighteen years of age entered. His dress bespoke him a midshipman in the navy, and the hearty familiarity of his manner showed that he was on intimate terms with the family. "Gildart, my boy, how are you?" cried Kenneth, springing up and shaking the youth warmly by both hands.
As they went along the street Gildart walked with the clarionet and held earnest converse with him apparently of a persuasive nature, for the clarionet frequently shook his head and appeared to remonstrate.
My son Gildart, with his hands in his pockets and his cap very much on one side of his head, entered my drawing-room one morning with a perplexed air. "What troubles you to-day?" asked Lizzie Gordon, who was seated at the window winding up a ball of worsted, the skein of which was being held by Miss Puff, who was at that time residing with us.
She seemed so like trifle in her pink muslin dress, that I could imagine a puff of wind blowing her away altogether. She could not be said to be puffed up with conceit, poor girl; but she dined almost exclusively on puff paste, to the evident satisfaction of my gallant son Gildart, who paid her marked attention during dinner. Gildart might as well have had a wax doll to entertain.
I cannot conceive it possible that any one would cast off his child deliberately and for ever. Why, the man who could do so were worse than the beasts that perish." "I agree with you. But what came of Tom and Emma?" asked Gildart. "They went to Australia. Tom got into business there.
"No, not so much that, as the fact that she told Niven last night that her name is Emmie." "That's not Emma," said Gildart. "It is what I used to call my sister, however; and besides that there is a seaman named Stephen Gaff, who, I find, has turned up somewhat suddenly and unaccountably last night from Australia.
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