[Footnote 39:  John Hay, writing to his friend Henry Adams under date of London, August 25, 1887, has the following to say about the party at Kilgraston:  “After that we went to Andy Carnegie in Perthshire, who is keeping his honeymoon, having just married a pretty girl....  The house is thronged with visitors—­sixteen when we came away—­we merely stayed three days:  the others were there for a fortnight.  Among them were your friends Blaine and Hale of Maine.  Carnegie likes it so well he is going to do it every summer and is looking at all the great estates in the County with a view of renting or purchasing.  We went with him one day to Dupplin Castle, where I saw the most beautiful trees I ever beheld in my wandering life.  The old Earl of ——­ is miserably poor—­not able to buy a bottle of seltzer—­with an estate worth millions in the hands of his creditors, and sure to be sold one of these days to some enterprising Yankee or British Buttonmaker.  I wish you or Carnegie would buy it.  I would visit you frequently.”  (Thayer, Life and Letters of John Hay, vol.  II, p. 74.)]

We took our piper with us when we returned to New York, and also our housekeeper and some of the servants.  Mrs. Nicoll remains with us still and is now, after twenty years’ faithful service, as a member of the family.  George Irvine, our butler, came to us a year later and is also as one of us.  Maggie Anderson, one of the servants, is the same.  They are devoted people, of high character and true loyalty.[40]

[Footnote 40:  “No man is a true gentleman who does not inspire the affection and devotion of his servants.” (Problems of To-day, by Andrew Carnegie.  New York, 1908, p. 59.)]

The next year we were offered and took Cluny Castle.  Our piper was just the man to tell us all about it.  He had been born and bred there and perhaps influenced our selection of that residence where we spent several summers.

On March 30, 1897, there came to us our daughter.  As I first gazed upon her Mrs. Carnegie said,

“Her name is Margaret after your mother.  Now one request I have to make.”

“What is it, Lou?”

“We must get a summer home since this little one has been given us.  We cannot rent one and be obliged to go in and go out at a certain date.  It should be our home.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“I make only one condition.”

“What is that?” I asked.

“It must be in the Highlands of Scotland.”

“Bless you,” was my reply.  “That suits me.  You know I have to keep out of the sun’s rays, and where can we do that so surely as among the heather?  I’ll be a committee of one to inquire and report.”

Skibo Castle was the result.