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. Gallosh had resumed—­

“Lord Tulliwuddle, though I myself am only a stranger to your clan, your Highland heart will feel reassured when I mention that I belong through my grandmother to the kindred clan of the Mackays!” ("Hear, hear!” from two or three ladies and gentlemen, evidently guests of the Gallosh.) “We are but visitors at Hechnahoul, yet we assure you that no more devoted hearts beat in all Caledonia!  Lord Tulliwuddle, we welcome you!”

“Put your hand on your heart and bow,” whispered Bunker.  “Keep on bowing and say nothing!”

Mechanically the bewildered Baron obeyed, and for a few moments presented a spectacle not unlike royalty in procession.

But as some reply from him had evidently been expected at this point, and the pipers had even ceased playing lest any word of their chief’s should be lost, a pause ensued which might have grown embarrassing had not the Count promptly stepped forward.

“I think,” he said, indicating two other snow-white figures who held gigantic bouquets, “that a pleasant part of the ceremony still remains before us.”

With a grateful glance at this discerning guest, Mrs. Gallosh thereupon led forward her two youngest daughters (aged fifteen and thirteen), who, with an air so delightfully coy that it fell like a ray of sunshine on the poor Baron’s heart, presented him with their flowery symbols of Hechnahoul’s obeisance to its lord.