"I think, father," returned Harry, "that someone has had some
interest in trying to prevent Mr. Starr from coming to the place
where you invited him."
"But who," exclaimed the old miner, "who could have possibly
guessed enough of my secret?" And Simon fell into a reverie,
from which he was aroused by his wife.
"Let us begin, Mr. Starr," she said. "The soup is already getting cold.
Don't think any more of that letter just now."
On the old woman's invitation, each drew in his chair,
James Starr opposite to Madge--to do him honor--the father
and son opposite to each other. It was a good Scotch dinner.
First they ate "hotchpotch," soup with the meat swimming
in capital broth. As old Simon said, his wife knew no rival
in the art of preparing hotchpotch. It was the same with the
"cockyleeky," a cock stewed with leeks, which merited high praise.
The whole was washed down with excellent ale, obtained from
the best brewery in Edinburgh.
But the principal dish consisted of a "haggis," the national pudding,
made of meat and barley meal. This remarkable dish, which inspired
the poet Burns with one of his best odes, shared the fate of all
the good things in this world--it passed away like a dream.
Madge received the sincere compliments of her guest.
The dinner ended with cheese and oatcake, accompanied by a few
small glasses of "usquebaugh," capital whisky, five and twenty
years old--just Harry's age.
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