Jardine made a murmur of hope that he _would_ come back to
Scotland. But the laird looked with a kind of large gloom at the
reflection of fire and candle in battered breastplate and morion and
crossed pikes.
Supper was brought in by two maids, Eppie and Phemie, and with them
came old Lauchlinson, the butler. Mrs. Jardine placed herself behind
the silver urn, and Mr. Touris was given the seat nearest the fire.
The boy James appeared, and with him the daughter of the house, Alice,
a girl of twelve, bonny and merry.
"Where is Alexander?" asked the laird.
Strickland answered. "He is not in yet, sir. I fancy that he walked to
the far moor. Bran is with him."
"He's a wanderer!" said the laird. "But he ought to keep hours."
"That's a fine youth!" quoth Mr. Touris, drinking tea. "I marked him
yesterday, casting the bar. Very strong--a powerful frame like yours,
Glenfernie! When is he going to college?"
"This coming year. I have kept him by me late," said the laird,
broodingly. "I like my bairns at home."
"Aye, but the young will not stay as they used to! They will be
voyaging," said the guest. "They build outlandish craft and forthfare,
no matter what you cry to them!" His voice had a mordant note. "I
know. I've got one myself--a nephew, not a son. But I am his guardian
and he's in my house, and it is the same.
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