Thus boldly urged by Johnnie Fuggie and his emissaries, who had easily procured access to her, Peggy had made her first ignorant, humble petition to her easy-minded, good-natured husband, who answered without thinking twice on the subject, ‘Oh, aye, Peggy, if you like. The place is promised to no other that I know of. Let Johnnie succeed to poor old Robbie Red-Lugs, but bid him mind the cauliflowers and codlins, and the horses’ knees, or I’ll break his head for him the first time I’m across the door.’ The Lady was not so content with this hasty appointment, which had been none of her contriving, but she thought if it did not work well, it could be summarily set aside when she and her son came back. So Peggy was left--not in solitary state, but doubly fenced with kindred at Drumsheugh after the deplorable day when she hung on her husband’s neck at parting, and saw him and his mother drive away down the fir-tree avenue, with the most miserable forebodings that she would never see Jamie Ramsay in the flesh again. FOOTNOTES: [5] Scotticè for Cunningham. CHAPTER V. THE REIGN OF MISRULE. Apart from Peggy’s despair at the separation from her husband, following so close on the death of her mother, the young wife felt as pleased as she could feel that she was to have her cousin Jenny for her helper and counsellor. Peggy had always looked up to Jenny, putting her under a different classification from that bestowed on ordinary servants. Peggy knew how clever and diligent her older, better-instructed kinswoman had proved herself. It had been entirely by her own laudable exertions that she had attained a higher standing, from which she had always been reasonably condescending and indulgent to her little cousin. The tables were turned now, but it never entered Peggy’s head to be anything save highly gratified that she could be of use to Jenny, while Peggy was grateful in proportion for the services which she was sure Jenny would render her. Jenny, who had lived as an upper servant among ladies, would show Peggy how to behave like a lady, so that she might no longer annoy the laird and affront his mother. And Jenny would speak to the poor, yearning, mourning girl’s hungry heart of the mother whose name had come to be a forbidden word at Drumsheugh, long before Peggy had left off wearing her first crape. Luckie Hedderwick’s memory must be cherished in a measure by Jenny also, since she had known the widow well, and had even been indebted to her in her better days.