The housemaid was the only being stirring
in the morning when little Mr. Binnie blundered over her pail as she was
washing the deck. Early as he was, his fellow-traveller had preceded him.
Binnie found the Colonel in his sitting-room arrayed in what are called
in Scotland his stocking-feet, already puffing the cigar, which in truth
was seldom out of his mouth at any hour of the day.
He had a couple of bedrooms adjacent to this sitting-room, and when
Binnie, as brisk and rosy about the gills as chanticleer, broke out in a
morning salutation, "Hush," says the Colonel, putting a long finger up to
his mouth, and advancing towards him as noiselessly as a ghost.
"What's in the wind now?" asks the little Scot; "and what for have ye not
got your shoes on?"
"Clive's asleep," says the Colonel, with a countenance full of extreme
anxiety.
"The darling boy slumbers, does he?" said the wag; "mayn't I just step in
and look at his beautiful countenance whilst he's asleep, Colonel?"
"You may if you take off those confounded creaking shoes," the other
answered, quite gravely; and Binnie turned away to hide his jolly round
face, which was screwed up with laughter.
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