You are Ellen, and Josephine is your
old harper--Allan Bane; she talks French, you know, and that will do
for Highland: Gallic and Gaelic sound alike, you know. There! Then
I'm going out hunting, and my dear gallant grey will drop down dead
with fatigue, and I shall lose my way; and when you hear me wind my
horn too-too, you get upon your hoop--that will be your boat, you
know--and answer 'Father!' and when I too-too again, answer
'Malcolm!' and then put up your hand behind your ear, and stand
listening
"With locks thrown back and lips apart,
Like monument of Grecian art;"
and then I'll tell you what to do."
Away scudded the delighted Kate; and after having lamented her
gallant grey, and admired the Trosachs, came up too-tooing through
her hand with all her might, but found poor Ellen, very unlike a
monument of Grecian art, absolutely crying, and Allan Bane using his
best English and kindest tones to console her.
"Miladi l'a stupefaite--la pauvre petite!" began Josephine; and Kate
in consternation asking what was the matter, and Josephine
encouraging her, it was all sobbed out. She did not like to be
called Ellen--and she thought it unkind to send her into banishment--
and she had fancied she was to get astride on her hoop, which she
justly thought highly improper--and above all, she could not bear to
say 'Father'--because -
"I never thought you would mind that," said Kate, rather abashed.
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