Penelopes Experiences in Scotland | Page 7

was charmingly furnished, and so large that,
notwithstanding the presence of a piano, two sofas, five small tables,
cabinets, desks, and chairs,--not forgetting a dainty five- o'clock tea
equipage,--we might have given a party in the remaining space.
"If this is a typical Scotch lodging, I like it; and if it is Scotch
hospitality to lay the cloth and make the fire before it is asked for, then
I call it simply Arabian in character!" and Salemina drew off her damp
gloves, and extended her hands to the blaze.
"And isn't it delightful that the bill doesn't come in for a whole week?"
asked Francesca. "We have only our English experiences on which to
found our knowledge, and all is delicious mystery. The tea may be a
present from Mrs. M'Collop, and the sugar may not be an extra; the fire
may be included in the rent of the apartment, and the piano may not be
taken away to-morrow to enhance the attractions of the dining-room
floor." (It was Francesca, you remember, who had `warstled' with the
itemised accounts at Smith's Private Hotel in London, and she who was
always obliged to turn pounds, shillings, and pence into dollars and
cents before she could add or subtract.)
"Come and look at the flowers in my bedroom," I called, "four great
boxes full! Mr. Beresford must have ordered the carnations, because he
always does; but where did the roses come from, I wonder?"
I rang the bell, and a neat white-aproned maid appeared.

"Who brought these flowers, please?"
"I cudna say, mam."
"Thank you; will you be good enough to ask Mrs. M'Collop?"
In a moment she returned with the message, "There will be a letter in
the box, mam."
"It seems to me the letter should be in the box now, if it is ever to be," I
thought, and I presently drew this card from among the fragrant buds:-
`Lady Baird sends these Scotch roses as a small return for the pleasure
she has received from Miss Hamilton's pictures. Lady Baird will give
herself the pleasure of calling to-morrow; meantime she hopes that
Miss Hamilton and her party will dine with her some evening this
week.'
"How nice!" exclaimed Salemina.
"The celebrated Miss Hamilton's undistinguished party presents its
humble compliments to Lady Baird," chanted Francesca, "and having
no engagements whatever, and small hope of any, will dine with her on
any and every evening she may name. Miss Hamilton's party will wear
its best clothes, polish its mental jewels, and endeavour in every
possible way not to injure the gifted Miss Hamilton's reputation among
the Scottish nobility."
I wrote a hasty note of thanks to Lady Baird, and rang the bell.
"Can I send a message, please?" I asked the maid.
"I cudna say, mam."
"Will you be good enough to ask Mrs. M'Collop, please?"
Interval; then:-
"The Boots will tak' it at seeven o'clock, mam."

"Thank you; is Fotheringay Crescent near here?"
"I cudna say, mam."
"Thank you; what is your name, please?"
I waited in well-grounded anxiety, for I had no idea that she knew her
name, or that if she had ever heard it, she could say it; but, to my
surprise, she answered almost immediately, "Susanna Crum, mam!"
What a joy it is in a vexatious world, where things `gang aft agley,' to
find something absolutely right.
If I had devoted years to the subject, having the body of Susanna Crum
before my eyes every minute of the time for inspiration, Susanna Crum
is what I should have named that maid. Not a vowel could be added,
not a consonant omitted. I said so when first I saw her, and weeks of
intimate acquaintance only deepened my reverence for the parental
genius that had so described her to the world.
Chapter III.
A vision in Princes Street.

When we awoke next morning the sun had forgotten itself and was
shining in at Mrs. M'Collop's back windows.
We should have arisen at once to burn sacrifices and offer oblations,
but we had seen the sun frequently in America, and had no idea (poor
fools!) that it was anything to be grateful for, so we accepted it, almost
without comment, as one of the perennial providences of life.
When I speak of Edinburgh sunshine I do not mean, of course, any such
burning, whole-souled, ardent warmth of beam as one finds in countries
where they make a specialty of climate. It is, generally speaking, a
half-hearted, uncertain ray, as pale and transitory as a martyr's smile;
but its faintest gleam, or its most puerile attempt to gleam, is admired

and recorded by its well-disciplined constituency. Not only that, but at
the first timid blink of the sun the true Scotsman remarks smilingly, `I
think now we shall be having