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"I was sawin' awa wi' a' my micht," Rob said, "an' little Rob was haudin' the booards, for they were silly but things, when something made me look at the window. It couldna hae been a tap on't, for the birds has used me to that, an' it would hardly be a shadow, for little Rob didna look up. Whatever it was, I stoppit i' the middle o' a booard, an' lookit up, an' there I saw Jamie McQumpha.
I mind times when men wha wanted to reach me, but couldna get to me when I was off the stage, hired themselves as stage hands that they micht catch me where I could not get away. Aye, they've reached me in every way. Selling things, books, insurance, pictures; plain begging, as often as not.
But my mamma micht hae weel lien here. The face of the miniature, and the sad words written below the hymn, came back upon him, and he bowed his head upon his hands. He was sitting thus when Miss St. John came behind him, and heard him murmur the one word Mamma! She laid her hand on his shoulder. He started and rose. 'I beg yer pardon, mem. I hae no business to be here, excep' to play.
"Dinna be angry wi' me, John, but a'm concerned aboot Sabbath, for a've been praying ever syne ye were called to Drumtochty that it micht be a great day, and that I micht see ye comin' tae yir people, laddie, wi' the beauty o' the Lord upon ye, according tae the auld prophecy: 'How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace," and again she stopped.
"If you're to go by the very word," rejoined Mrs Courthope, stopping and looking him full in the face, "you might insist on sleeping in Lord Gernon's chamber itself." "Weal, an' sae I micht," returned Malcolm. The hinted possibility of having to change bad for so much worse, appeared to quench further objection.
"Go on, Jock," says ane o' them, gien anither ane a shuve forrit. "You're the captain; speak you." Jock gae a host, an' syne layin' his hand a gey clorty ane it was on the coonter, an' stanin' on ae fit, he says "Isyin?" "Wha micht he be?" says I. "Sandy," said the captain. "What Sandy?" says I. "No," said ane o' the birkies ahent; "your Sandy Sandy Bowden."
'I beg yer lordship's pardon. Caumill! Yer lordship never said ye wanted yer lordship's horse ta'en. I thocht ye micht be gaein' on to The Bothie. Tak' Black Geordie here, Caumill. Come in to the parlour, my lord. 'How d'ye do, Miss Naper? said Lord Rothie, as he entered the room.
I aye hae to haud ye to the pint, Betty. The pint is, whether he has rabbits or no? 'Or guinea-pigs, suggested Betty. 'Weel. 'Or maybe a pup or twa. Or I kent a laddie ance 'at keepit a haill faimily o' kittlins. Or maybe he micht hae a bit lammie. There was an uncle o' min' ain 'Haud yer tongue, Betty! Ye hae ower muckle to say for a' the sense there's intil 't.
If she tid put know ta paad blood was pe in you, she wouldn't pe tone you ta wrong as pring you up." "That's a wrang no ill to forgi'e, daddy. But it's a pity ye didna lat me lie, for maybe syne Mistress Catanach wad hae broucht me up hersel', an' I micht hae come to something." "Weel, ye see what ye hae saved me frae."
I'd nowt to think of but the wee laddie, and there was time enow before it would be richt to be sending him off time enow for me to earn as muckle siller as he micht need. Why should he no be a gentleman? His blood was gude on both sides, frae his mither and frae me. And, oh, I wish ye could ha' seen the bonnie laddie as his mither and I did!
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