"Off ye go to your pairtridge-shooting, and make no more pretence," said he; and then he added, "And look here, my lad, when ye leave this house I hope ye will express in a proper form your thanks for the kindness ye have received. No, no; I do not like the way of you English in that respect. Ye take no notice of anything. Ye receive a man’s hospitality for a week, a fortnight, a month; and then ye shake hands with him at the door; and walk out—as if nothing had happened! These may be good manners in England; they are not here." "I can’t make a speech, uncle," said the Youth slyly. "They don’t teach us those things at the English public schools." "Ye gowk," said the Laird severely, "do ye think I want ye to make a speech like Norval on the Grampian Hills? I want ye to express in proper language your thankfulness for the attention and kindness that have been bestowed on ye. What are ye afraid of? Have ye not got a mouth? From all that I can hear the English have a wonderful fluency of speech, when there is no occasion for it at all: bletherin’ away like twenty steam-engines, and not a grain of wheat to be found when a’ the stour is laid." *CHAPTER IX.* *"WHILE THE RIPPLES FOLD UPON SANDS OF GOLD."* The days passed, and still the Laird professed to be profoundly busy; and our departure for the north was further and further postponed. The Youth had at first expressed his intention of waiting to see us off; which was very kind on his part, considering how anxious he was to cultivate the acquaintance of that important solicitor. His patience, however, at last gave out; and he begged to be allowed to start on a certain morning. The evening before we walked down to the shore with him, and got pulled out to the yacht, and sate on deck while he went below to pack such things as had been left in his state-room. "It will be a strange thing," said our gentle Admiral-in-chief, "for us to have a cabin empty. That has never happened to us in the Highlands, all the time we have been here. It will be a sort of ghost’s room; we shall not dare to look into it for fear of seeing something to awaken old memories." She put her hand in her pocket, and drew out some small object. "Look," said she, quite sentimentally. It was only a bit of pencil: if it had been the skull of Socrates she could not have regarded it with a greater interest. "It is the pencil Angus used to mark our games with. I found it in the saloon the day before yesterday;" and then she added, almost to herself, "I wonder where he is now." The answer to this question startled us. "In Paris," said the Laird. But no sooner had he uttered the words than he seemed somewhat embarrassed. "That is, I believe so," he said hastily. "I am not in correspondence with him. I do not know for certain. I have heard—it has been stated to me—that he might perhaps remain until the end of this week in Paris before going on to Naples."