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"The puir laird's gane back to his," said Malcolm. "I won'er gien he kens yet, or gien he gangs speirin' at ilk ane he meets gien he can tell him whaur he cam frae. He's mad nae mair, ony gait." "How? Will he pe not tead? Ta poor lairt! Ta poor maad lairt!" "Ay, he's deid: maybe that's what'll be troublin' yer sicht, daddy." "No, my son.
We had a grand take, I mind, and the way that the fish lay broucht us near in by the Bass, whaur we foregaithered wi' anither boat that belanged to a man Sandie Fletcher in Castleton. He's no lang deid neither, or ye could speir at himsel'. Weel, Sandie hailed. "What's yon on the Bass?" says he. "On the Bass?" says grandfaither. "Ay," says Sandie, "on the green side o't."
It was certainly neither Argyle Street nor the Paisley Road, but it bore a far-off resemblance to those gay places, and for that Mrs. M'Cosh was thankful. There was a cinema, too, and that was a touch of home. Talking over Priorsford with Glasgow friends she would say, "It's no' juist whit I wud ca' the deid country no juist paraffin-ile and glaury roads, ye ken.
"Wheesht!" he said sternly. "Nane shall pray for the deid on my hearth-stane." I disclaimed a Popish sense for my ejaculation; and he seemed to accept my disclaimer with unusual facility, and ran on once more upon what had evidently become a favourite subject. "We fand her in Sandag Bay, Rorie an' me, and a' thae braws in the inside of her.
No words at all came from her, but her bosom rose and fell as she battled with her sorrow. "The man's not deid," said I, for I felt that was the great news, but little did I know the woman. "Dead," she cries "dead," and laughed. "Would that dog's death have brought a tear to my eyes. Hamish, Hamish, I have lost my man." And wondrous fierce and beautiful she was as I left her.
Bobby's a' for gangin' awa' to leev in a grand kirkyaird wi' Auld Jock." A little gasp, and a wee sob, and an awed question: "Is gude Auld Jock deid, daddy?" Bobby heard it and answered with a mournful howl. The lassie snuggled closer to the warm, beating heart, hid her eyes in the rough plaid, and cried for Auld Jock and for the grieving little dog.
So expired the Black Moll. I was picked up and thrown into the brigantine's long-boat with a head and stomach full of salt water, and a heart as light as spray with the joy of it all. A big, red-bearded man lifted my heels to drain me. "The mon's deid," said he. "Dead!" cried I, from the bottom-board. "No more dead than you!"
"Your father is dead, is he, Angus?" was the next step in my examination for discovery, as the lawyers say. "No, he's no' deid, he's alive," replied the lad, with the exactitude which marks his race; "but I dinna care to speak aboot him."
Whan she got intil the doctor's gig and awa they drave, my hert grew cauld; I was like ane deid and beginnin to rot i' the grave. But that minute I h'ard, or it was jist as gien I h'ard I dinna mean wi' my lugs, but i' my hert, ye ken a v'ice cry, "Steenie!
Then he turned to me and laid a hand on my arm. "Ye think there's naething there?" he said, pointing with his pipe; and then cried out aloud, with a kind of exultation: "I'll tell ye, man! The deid are down there thick like rattons!" He turned at once, and, without another word, we retraced our steps to the house of Aros.
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