"Yes," said Mrs. Thomson. "She's a grand praiser. Some folk fair make you lose conceit of your things, but she's the other way. Did I tell you Papa and me are going away next week for a wee holiday? Just the two of us. Jessie'll manage the house and look after the boys. Papa says I look tired. I'm sure that it's no' that I work as hard as I used to work; but there, years tell, and I'm no' the Mrs. Thomson I once was. We're going to the Kyles Hydro--it's real homely and nice." "I niver stopped in a Hydro in my life," Miss Hendry said. "It must be a grand rest. Nothing to do but take your meat." "That's so," Mrs. Thomson admitted. "It gives you a kind of rested feeling to see white paint everywhere and know that it's no business of yours if it gets marked, and to sit and look at a fine fire blazing itself away without thinkin' you should be getting on a shovel of dross; and it's a real holiday-feeling to put on your rings and your afternoon dress for breakfast." Voices were heard in the lobby. Mrs. Thomson started up to welcome home her husband, while Jessie announced to the visitors that tea was ready in the parlour. _CHAPTER IX_ "I have great comfort from this fellow." _The Tempest._ On the afternoon of the Saturday that brought Arthur Townshend to Glasgow Elizabeth sat counselling her young brother about his behaviour to the expected guest. She drew a lurid picture of his everyday manners, and pointed out where they might be improved, so that Mr. Arthur Townshend might not get too great a shock. Buff remained quite calm, merely remarking that he had never seen anyone called Townshend quite close before. Elizabeth went on to remind him that any remarks reflecting on the English as a race, or on the actions in history, would be in extreme bad taste. This warning she felt to be necessary, remembering how, when Buff was younger, some English cousins had come to stay, and he had refused to enter the room to greet them, contenting himself with shouting through the keyhole, "_Who killed William Wallace?_" Since then, some of his fierce animosity to the "English" had died down, though he still felt that Queen Mary's death needed a lot of explaining. As his sister continued the lecture, and went into details about clean nails and ears, Buff grew frankly bored, and remarking that he wished visitors would remain at home, went off to find Thomas and Billy. Mr. Seton, sitting with his sermon, unabatedly cheerful in spite of the fact that a strange young man--a youth "tried and tutored in the world"--was about to descend on his home, looked up and laughed at his daughter. "Let the boy alone, Lizbeth," he advised. "I see nothing wrong with his manners."