their own. The bringing up of the boys he deigned to approve of: "_fast
so gut wie ein Bauer_," was his trenchant criticism. The attention and
courtly respect with which Fleeming surrounded his wife was something of
a puzzle to the philosophic gillie; he announced in the village that
Mrs. Jenkin--_die silberne Frau_, as the folk had prettily named her
from some silver ornaments--was a "_geborene Graefin_" who had married
beneath her; and when Fleeming explained what he called the English
theory (though indeed it was quite his own) of married relations,
Joseph, admiring but unconvinced, avowed it was "_gar schoen_." Joseph's
cousin, Walpurga Moser, to an orchestra of clarionet and zither, taught
the family the country dances, the Steierisch and the Laendler, and
gained their hearts during the lessons. Her sister Loys, too, who was up
at the Alp with the cattle, came down to church on Sundays, made
acquaintance with the Jenkins, and must have them up to see the sunrise
from her house upon the Loser, where they had supper and all slept in
the loft among the hay. The Mosers were not lost sight of; Walpurga
still corresponds with Mrs. Jenkin, and it was a late pleasure of
Fleeming's to choose and despatch a wedding present for his little
mountain friend. This visit was brought to an end by a ball in the big
inn parlour; the refreshments chosen, the list of guests drawn up, by
Joseph; the best music of the place in attendance; and hosts and guests
in their best clothes. The ball was opened by Mrs. Jenkin dancing
Steierisch with a lordly Bauer, in grey and silver and with a plumed
hat; and Fleeming followed with Walpurga Moser.

There ran a principle through all these holiday pleasures. In Styria, as
in the Highlands, the same course was followed: Fleeming threw himself
as fully as he could into the life and occupations of the native people,
studying everywhere their dances and their language, and conforming,
always with pleasure, to their rustic etiquette. Just as the ball at
Alt-Aussee was designed for the taste of Joseph, the parting feast at
Attadale was ordered in every particular to the taste of Murdoch, the
keeper. Fleeming was not one of the common, so-called gentlemen, who
take the tricks of their own coterie to be eternal principles of taste.
He was aware, on the other hand, that rustic people dwelling in their
own places follow ancient rules with fastidious precision, and are
easily shocked and embarrassed by what (