“A gentleman, who is evidently addressing the people,” answered Lady Glencairn slowly. She gazed intently at the figure silhouetted against the light of the street lamps. Surely she knew that form. At that moment he turned, and with a flush of surprise, a thrill of joy, she suddenly recognized him. “Upon my life,’tis Robert, Robert Burns!” she cried excitedly. “Aye, I recognize him now,” said Mr. Mackenzie. “And you say they are drawing him hither?” inquired Sir William incredulously, turning to his niece. “Aye, and why not?” she replied brightly, turning to the others. “They should carry him on their shoulders, for he deserves all homage.” “And ’tis said the Scots are not demonstrative,” ejaculated Mr. Mackenzie, as another burst of applause and cheers, followed by laughter, reached their ears. “You hear how demonstrative they can be when occasion demands enthusiasm,” replied Lady Glencairn stanchly, “when genius knocks at the door of their hearts. See how Edinburgh has utterly lost control of its conservative old self, and all over the poetic genius of Robert Burns.” “True, he has indeed stirred the hardest-hearted Scot by his fascinating poetry,” mused Mr. Mackenzie admiringly. “How I shall love him,” sighed Eppy dreamily. “In sooth I do now,” and she simpered and dropped her eyes like a love-sick school girl. “And she has never met the man yet!” cried Sir William in amazement. “The woman’s daft,” he muttered, turning away. “I do wish he would come,” sighed Eppy. “I want to tell him how much I admire him and his poetry. Oh, I have the dearest little speech, that Sibella, my sister, composed, all prepared to say when I am presented to him.” She rolled her eyes up ecstatically. “I shall also recite one of his odes to him,” she continued, in the tone of one who is about to confer a great favor. “I know ’twill please him greatly,” and she fanned herself languidly. “What have you selected?” inquired Lady Glencairn, laughing openly. The woman’s vanity amused her. “Such a sweet conceit,” simpered Eppy. “Is it ‘Tam O’Shanter’s Tale’?” inquired Mr. Mackenzie, interestedly. “No, oh, no!” she replied, shaking her head. “’Tis monstrous long to recite.” “An ode to a calf,” said Sir William grimly, “would be more appropriate.” “Perhaps ’tis the tale of ‘The Twa Dogs,’” hazarded Lady Glencairn. Eppy laughed gleefully and shook her head. “Tell us the name, madam; we’re no children!” roared Sir William, glaring at her like an angry bull. “You’re so gruff,” pouted Eppy reproachfully. “Do you all give it up?” They nodded. “Well, then, don’t be shocked,” and she shook her finger at them coquettishly; then leaning forward she whispered loudly, “’Tis entitled ‘To a Louse.’” “Heaven, preserve us!” ejaculated Mr. Mackenzie, laughing heartily. “She’s touched here!” cried Sir William commiseratingly, putting his finger to his head. “Why did you choose that?” gasped Lady Glencairn, in amazement.