A rising gale of laughter drowned his further remarks, but he continued in dumb show, with fervid gesticulations, and a mouth that moved rapidly but produced no sound, concluding with a humble bow; and stalked back to his chair with stately dignity, unmarred by even the semblance of a smile.  Young Peter Johnson howled with the rest, his sulks forgotten; and even the withered serving-man relaxed to a smile—­a portent hitherto unknown.

“Come; we grow giddy,” chided McClintock at last, wiping his own eyes as he spoke.  “We have done with talk of yonder ghost-bogle mine.  But I must trouble you yet with a word of my own, which is partly to justify me before you.  This it is—­that, even at the time of Stanley’s flitting, I set it down in black and white that he was to halve my gear wi’ Oscar, share and share alike.  I aye likit the boy weel.  From this day all is changit; Oscar shall hae neither plack nor bawbee of mine; all goes to my wife’s nephew, Stanley Mitchell, as is set down in due form in the bit testament that is waiting without; bating only some few sma’ bequests for old kindness.  It is but loath I am to poison our mirth with the name of the man Oscar; the deil will hae him to be brandered; he is fast grippit, except he be cast out as an orra-piece, like the smith in the Norroway tale.  When ye are come to your own land, Mr. Johnson, ye will find that brockle-faced stot there afore you; and I trust ye will comb him weel.  Heckle him finely, and spare not; but ere ye have done wi’ him, for my sake drop a word in his lug to come nae mair to Vesper.  When all’s said, the man is of my wife’s blood and bears her name; I would not have that name publicly disgracit.  They were a kindly folk, the Mitchells.  I thought puirly of theem for a wastrel crew when I was young.  But now I am old, I doubt their way was as near right as mine.  You will tell him for me, Mr. Johnson, to name one who shall put a value on his gear, and I shall name another; and what they agree upon I shall pay over to his doer, and then may I never hear of him more—­unless it be of ony glisk of good yet in him, the which I shall be most blithe to hear.  And so let that be my last word of Oscar.  Cornelius, bring in the lawyer body, and let us be ower wi’ it; for I think it verra needfu’ that the two lads should even pack their mails and take train this day for the West.  You’ll have an eye on this young spark, Mr. Boland?  And gie him a bit word of counsel from time to time, should ye see him temptit to whilly-whas and follies?  I fear me he is prone to insubordination.”

“I’ll watch over him, sir,” laughed Boland.

“I’ll keep him in order.  And if Miss Selden should have a message—­or anything—­to send, perhaps—­”

Miss Selden blushed and laughed.

“No, thank you!” she said.  “I’ll—­I’ll send it by Mr. Johnson.”

The will was brought in.  McClintock affixed his signature in a firm round hand; the others signed as witnesses.