Poor man,
he was a public-spirited man, when he had the
means.''
``Duntarkin a public house!'' I exclaimed.
``Ay?'' said the fellow, surprised at my naming
the place by its former title, ``ye'll hae been in
this country before, I'm thinking?''
``Long since,'' I replied---``and there is good
accommodation at the what-d'ye-call-'em arms, and
a civil landlord?'' This I said by way of saying
something, for the man stared very hard at me.
``Very decent accommodation. Ye'll no be for
fashing wi' wine, I'm thinking, and there's walth
o' porter, ale, and a drap gude whisky''---(in an
under tone) ``Fairntosh, if you can get on the lee-side
of the gudewife---for there is nae gudeman---
They ca' her Christie Steel.''
I almost started at the sound. Christie Steele!
Christie Steele was my mother's body servant, her
very right hand, and, between ourselves, something
like a viceroy over her. I recollected her
perfectly; and though she had, in former times, been
no favourite of mine, her name now sounded in my
ear like that of a friend, and was the first word I
had heard somewhat in unison with the associations
around me. I sallied from Castle-Treddles, determined
to make the best of my way to Duntarkin,
and my cicerone hung by me for a little way,
giving loose to his love of talking; an opportunity
which, situated as he was, the seneschal of a deserted
castle, was not likely to occur frequently.
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