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"I'm nae Cam'ell, ye ken, Duncan," she concluded, "an' what an auld wuman like mysel' can du to mak ye coamfortable sail no fail, an' that I promise ye."
He was aye able to mak' deaf folk hear, wasn't he, Miss Cam'ell?" said Geordie, with a bright smile as he turned to his young teacher.
"She hopes you 'll pe forgifing ta plind old man, however. She could n't see, or she would haf known at once petter." "I dinna ken what ye 're efter noo, daddy," said Malcolm. "That she'll do you a creat wrong, and she'll be ferry sorry for it, my son." "What wrang did ye ever du me, daddy?" "That she was let you crow up a Cam'ell, my poy.
"Ye grant Grizel Cam'ell yer wife, my lord, whan ye own to that wreet. Gien 't war naething but a written promise an' a bairn to follow, it wad be merriage eneuch i' this cuintry, though it mayna be in cuintries no sae ceevileest." "But all that is nothing as to the child. Why do you fix on this young fellow? You say you can't prove it."
"If Miss Campbell was his mother," said the marquis. "Miss Cam'ell!" cried Miss Horn. "I'll thank yer lordship to ca' her by her ain, an' that's Lady Lossie." What of the something ruinous heart of the marquis was habitable was occupied by his daughter, and had no accommodation at present either for his dead wife or his living son. Once more he sat thinking in silence for a while.
"Yes; put ta duvil will pe to pay, for she couldn't safe you from ta Cam'ell plood, my son!
The old man thought for a little. "Tat will tepend on who was pe your father, my son," he replied. "If he too will be a Cam'ell ochone! ochone! Put tere may pe some coot plood co into you, more as enough to say God will pe make you, my son. Put don't pe asking, Malcolm. Ton't you 'll pe asking." "What am I no to ask, daddy?" "Ton't pe asking who made you who was ta father to you, my poy.
"She hopes you'll pe forgifing ta plind old man, however. She couldn't see, or she would haf known at once petter." "I dinna ken what ye're efter noo, daddy," said Malcolm. "That she'll do you a creat wrong, and she'll be ferry sorry for it, my son." "What wrang did ye ever du me, daddy?" "That she was let you crow up a Cam'ell, my poy.
She would rather not pe knowing, for ta man might pe a Cam'ell poth. And if she couldn't pe lofing you no more, my son, she would pe tie pefore her time, and her tays would pe long in ta land under ta crass, my son."
The old man thought for a little. "Tat will tepend on who was pe your father, my son," he replied. "If he too will be a Cam'ell ochone! ochone! Put tere may pe some coot plood co into you more as enough to say God will pe make you, my son. Put don't pe asking, Malcolm ton't you'll pe asking." "What am I no to ask, daddy?" "Ton't pe asking who made you, who was ta father to you, my poy.
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