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Of my sin two know besides my Maker the father that begot you, whose false friend I was in the days that were, and Walter Skirving, the father of the first Winifred whose eyes this hand closed under the Peacock tree at Crossthwaite." The broad drops fell on the window-panes in splashes, and the thunder rain drummed on the roof.
"Dirt's plenty," grumbled the old man, who had settled himself again to his pipe, with his feet on the fender, and his head half way up the chimney. "Now, or never!" went on Crossthwaite, without minding him; "now, or never! The manufacturing districts seem more firm than ever." "An' words cheap," commented Mackaye, sotto voce.
And out of his tattered coat-tail he lugged a flask of powder and a lump of some cheap chemical salt, whose name I have, I am ashamed to say, forgotten. "You're a pretty fellow to keep such things in the same pocket with gunpowder!" "Come along to Mackaye's," said Crossthwaite. "I'll see to the bottom of this. Be hanged, but I think the fellow's a cursed mouchard some government spy!"
So gang your gate, and tell John Crossthwaite, privately, auld Sandy Mackaye wad like to see him the morn's night." I went home in wonder and delight. I should have my fill of them at last. And when I said my prayers at night, I thanked God for this unexpected boon; and then remembered that my mother had forbidden it. That thought checked the thanks, but not the pleasure.
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