This was a turning of the sword of the pious “X” upon himself with a vengeance, for he was prone in his spiritual disquisitions to detail much of the discomfort of the future state that awaited his careless friends.

The allusion so far pleased old Mivane, who resented a suspected relegation of himself to a warm station in the schemes of “X,” that, although his head was still bald and shining like a billiard ball, he suffered himself to drop into his chair, his stick resting motionless on the long-suffering puncheon floor.

“If I could only hear for a day I’d forgive twenty soundless years!” he declared piteously, for he so deprecated the enforced withdrawal from the enterprise that he had heedlessly undertaken, and felt so keenly the reflections upon his sentiments and sincerity surreptitiously canvassed between Ronackstone and “X,” and then cavalierly rehearsed in his presence.

“You are only deaf to certain whanging voices in queer keys,” his granddaughter declared.

“And how do I know in what sort of key the herders on the Keowee talk?  They may ‘moo’ like the cow, or ‘mew’ like the cat!  I should be in danger of losing half that was said.  And that is what these varlets here in the station know right well.  It must seem but a mere bit of bombast on my part.  It could never be seriously countenanced—­unless I had an interpreter.  Stop me! but if you were a grandson instead of a granddaughter, I would not mind taking you with me to interpret for me, though, Gadzooks, I’d be like a heathen red Injun with a linguister!”

“And why am I not as good as any grandson?” demanded Peninnah Penelope Anne, with a spirited flash of her bright hazel eyes and great temerity of speculation; for be it remembered the days of the theories of woman’s equality with man had not yet dawned.  “Sure, sir, I can speak when I am spoken to.  I understand the English language; and”—­her voice rising into a liquid crescendo of delight—­“I can wear my gray sergedusoy sack made over my carnation taffeta bodice and cashmere petticoat, all pranked out with bows of black velvet, most genteel, and my hat of quilled primrose sarcenet, grandfather.  I’d take them in a bundle, for if we should have rain I would rather be in my old red hood and blue serge riding-coat on the way, grandfather.”

And thus it was settled before she had fairly readjusted the peruke on his head as he sat in his great chair and she clambered on its arm.

She had not heard of the disaster that had befallen Ralph Emsden, and she turned rather pale and wistful when the news was communicated to her.  Then realizing how opportune was the accident, how slight was its ultimate danger in comparison with the jeopardy of the mission from which he was rescued, she fairly gloated upon the chance which had conferred it upon her grandfather, and made her an instrument in its execution.