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The good lady pointed to a shattered member of the set that lay on the tray beside her. "I have just ordered a new set, my dear," said her husband, in a subdued voice. "Our poor dear boy would benefit, I think, by mountain air. But go on with the cons." "Have I not said enough?" replied Mrs Sudberry, with an injured look. "Besides, they have no food in Scotland."
At first it had filled Mrs Sudberry with great alarm, raising in her feeble mind horrible reminiscences of tales of burglary and midnight murder. After suffering inconceivable torments of apprehension for two nights, the good lady could stand it no longer, and insisted on her husband going out to see what it could be.
But Mr Sudberry was not a man to be easily thwarted. Recalling the days of his boyhood, he cast off his coat and nimbly shinned up the trunk of the tree. In a few minutes he reached the top branch and seized it. At that moment the bough on which he stood gave way, and he fell to the ground with a terrible crash, bringing the top branch with him!
"Never mind the cups, my dear, but listen to me. The air of the Highlands is salubrious and bracing " "And piercingly cold, my dear John," interrupted Mrs Sudberry. "In summer," pursued her husband, regardless of the interruption, "it is sometimes as clear and warm as it is in Italy " "And often foggy, my dear." "The mountain scenery is grand and majestic beyond description "
"Oh! bring it to me, Mr Macannister!" cried Mrs Sudberry with unwonted energy, for her happiness was dependent on salt that day, coupled, of course, with weather and scenery. "Faugh! no, it's your horrid onions, Mr MacAndrews." "Why, you have forgotten the potato salad, Mr Macdonald," exclaimed Lucy. "No, I have not: it can be made in five minutes, but not without salt. Where can the salt be?
It was the second of the four bright days which relieved the monotony of those six dreary weeks of rain. Rejoicing in the glorious aspect of earth and sky, and in the fresh scents which the rain had called forth from every shrub and flower on the mountains, Mr Sudberry dashed about the White House in and out awaiting the assembling of the family to breakfast with great impatience.
Mr Sudberry was in his element now. The deep flush on his gladsome countenance indicated the turmoil of combined romance and delight which raged within his heaving chest, and which he with difficulty prevented from breaking forth into an idiotic cheer. He was alone, as we have said. He was purposely so. He felt that, as yet, no member of his family could possibly sympathise with his feelings.
The gentlemen and Hobbs load themselves, and, followed by Jacky and the ladies, proceed to the margin of the loch, which sheet of water Mr Sudberry styles a "lock," while his better half deliberately and obstinately calls it a "lake." The party is a large one for so small a boat, but it holds them all easily.
At a quarter-past four all the party assembled at the inn except Mr Sudberry. Five arrived no Mr Sudberry. The coach could not wait! The gentlemen, in despair, rushed up the bed of the stream, and found him fishing, in a glow of excitement, with his basket and all his pockets full of splendid trout.
Suddenly, without a word of warning, she pushed Jacky away from her, and began to wring her hands and moan as she bent over the fire. Mr Sudberry seized the opportunity to decamp. He led Jacky quietly out of the hut, and made for the White House at as rapid a pace as the darkness of the night would allow.
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