d on his faithful friend's arm, the panic-stricken
Tulliwuddle staggered ashore. Before his dazed eyes there seemed to be
arrayed the vastest and most barbaric concourse his worst nightmare had
ever imagined. Six pipers played within ten paces of him, each of them
arrayed in the full panoply of the clan; at least a dozen dogs yelped
their exultation; and from the surrounding throng two ancient men
in tartan and four visions in snowy white stepped forth to greet the
distinguished visitors.

The first hitch in the proceedings occurred at this point. According to
the unofficial but carefully considered programme, the pipers ought to
have ceased their melody; but, whether inspired by ecstatic loyalty or
because the Tulliwuddle pibroch took longer to perform than had been
anticipated, they continued to skirl with such vigor that expostulations
passed entirely unheard. Under the circumstances there was nothing for
it but shouting, and in a stentorian yell Mr. Gallosh introduced his
wife and three fair daughters.

Thereupon Mrs. Gallosh, a broad-beamed matron whose complexion
contrasted pleasantly with her costume, delivered the following
oration--

"Lord Tulliwuddle, in the name of the women of Hechnahoul--I may say in
the name of the women of all the Highlands--oor ain Heelands, my lord"
(this with the most insinuating smile)--"I bid you welcome to your
ancestral estates. Remembering the conquests your ancestors used to
make both in war and in a gentler sphere" (Mrs. Gallosh looked archness
itself), "we ladies, I suppose, should regard your home-coming with some
misgivings; but, my lord, every bonny Prince Charlie has his bonny Flora
Macdonald, and in this land of mountain, mist, and flood, where 'Dark
Ben More frowns o'er the wave,' and where 'Ilka lassie has her laddie,'
you will find a thousand romantic maidens ready to welcome you as Ellen
welcomed Fitz-James! For centuries your heroic race has adorned the
halls and trod the heather of Hechnahoul, and for centuries more we hope
to see the offspring of your lordship and some winsome Celtic maid rule
these cataracts and glens!"

At this point the exertion of shouting down six bagpipes in active
eruption caused a temporary cessation of the lady's eloquence, and the
pause was filled by the cheers of the crowd led by the "Hip-hip-hip!"
of Count Bunker, and by the broken and fortunately inaudible protests of
the embarrassed father of future Tulliwuddles. In a moment Mrs. G