showed me very clearly that female domination was not acknowledged by the
inhabitants of Mervyn Hall.

Our host, Mr Ginger, received us with great cordiality, and a flagon of
superior ale. There are worse things under the skirts of Plinlimmon than
the ancient _cwrw_ of the Cymry. In five minutes the two gentlemen were
deep in the discussion of certain disputed gradients, and my jaws were on
the very verge of dislocation, when uncle Scripio, good-naturedly
suggested that I might retire to another apartment.

"How many of the lads have you here just now, Ginger? I think Freddy had
better step in and make their acquaintance."

Mr Ginger looked rather sour. "There's Gordon and Mackinnon working at the
estimates, and William Cutts writing out the notices. I'm afraid they'll
be disturbed."

"No fear of that," said I, too glad to make my escape on any terms; and
accordingly, without further ceremony, I entered the adjoining study.

Mr Gordon, the senior engineer, as a sinewy-limbed fellow of some
three-and-thirty, whose countenance and complexion bore satisfactory
evidence of a pure Caledonian extraction. He was considered by his
scientific brethren as a kind of engineering Robert the Devil, having
performed various feats with the theodolite which were the marvel of the
whole fraternity. If any old gentleman was foolish enough to object to a
proposed line on account of its traversing his garden or preserve, or
invading the sanctity of his pig-stys, Gordon was instantly sent for. No
sooner were the stars out, as also the lights in the mansion-house, than,
on the verge of the disputed territory, an accurate observer might have
described something like the glimmer of a glow-worm advancing stealthily
forwards. That was Master Gordon, with his lantern, staff, and chain; and
before the grey dawn of morning, the whole gradients were booked and ready
for the most searching inspection of a committee of the House of Commons.
It is even alleged that, despite the enmity of a northern thane, this
Protean Archimedes surveyed a Highland line with nothing but his leister,
or salmon-spear, and actually killed three fish whilst ascertaining the
practicability of a cutting through a tremendous Pass. Be this as it may,
he was certainly a clever fellow, and as ugly a customer as a keeper could
cope withal before the dew had vanished from the clover. Mackinnon was a
quiet-looking lad, with a latent dash of the dare-devil; proud of his name
an