'Doh, me, soh, doh, soh, me, doh,' hummed the vocalist.
Christina, who had been looking desperately serious, let out a
small squeak and hurriedly blew her nose. Macgregor regarded her
in astonishment, and she withdrew the little finger she had
permitted him to capture.
'It's a patriotic sang in honour,' Mrs. Pumpherston started to
explain----
'Ach, woman!' cried her spouse, 'ye've made me loss ma key.' He
re-struck the fork irritably, and proceeded to inform the
company--'It's no exac'ly a new sang, but----'
'Ye'll be lossin' yer key again, Geordie.'
With a sulky grunt, Mr. Pumpherston once more struck his fork, but
this time discreetly on the leg of his chair, and in his own good
time made a feeble attack on 'Rule, Britannia.'
'This is fair rotten,' Macgregor muttered at the third verse,
resentful that his love should be apparently enjoying it.
'Remember ye're a sojer,' she whispered back, 'an' thole.' But she
let him find her hand again.
The drear performance came to an end amid applause sufficient to
satisfy Mrs. Pumpherston.
'Excep' when ye cracked on "arose," ye managed fine,' she said to
her perspiring mate, and to the hostess, 'What think ye o' that for
a patriotic sang, Mistress McOstrich?'
'Oh, splendid--splendid!' replied Mrs. McOstrich with a nervous
start. For the last five minutes she had been lost in furtive
contemplation of her two youthful guests, her withered countenance
more melancholy even than usual.
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