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Updated: June 3, 2025
"There's not a fardin' to pick between us!" was the verdict as the boys started out to find their father, stretched on his favourite sunny mound within sight of the Haunted House of Marnhoul now more haunted than ever. But on this occasion Boyd Connoway was on his return, when he met the exiled Ephraim.
Connoway disturbed himself just enough to sit up for our sakes, which he would not have done for a dozen grown men. He removed the straw from his mouth, and pointed with it to the end chimney nearest to the great wood of Marnhoul.
But nothing of great moment occurred till, on the same knoll from which he had summoned us to view the smoke of the ghost's afternoon fire at Marnhoul, we encountered Boyd Connoway. He was stretched at length, as usual, one leg crossed negligently over the other.
I knew that Agnes Anne would be afraid of what I was doing, having had a horror of firearms ever since, as a child, she had seen Florrie, our old dun cow, shot dead by Boyd Connoway to be our "mart" of the year, and salted down for the winter's food in the big beef barrel.
He turned a white, bewildered face to me, cold sweats pearling it, and his jaw worked in spasms. "Oh yes," he muttered, "Agnes Anne's brother!" Now I did not see the use of dragging Agnes Anne continually into everything. Also I was one of the boys who had gone with Boyd Connoway oftenest to the fishing in Loch-in-Breck, and he need not have been afraid of me.
"Deil or man," broke in my grandmother, who thought she had kept silence long enough, "never was a truer word spoken!" Boyd Connoway looked pathetically about. He seemed to implore some one to stand up in his defence. I would have liked to do it, because of his kindness to me, but dared not before such an assembly and on so solemn an occasion.
But such was my consideration, that not to leave Bridget in distress I went asking about till I got her the washin' at General Johnstone's the minister's she had before so there was Bridget well provided for, Miss Irma and here am I, Boyd Connoway, a free man on my travels!" We asked news of friends and acquaintances the usual Galloway round of questions.
"You spoke to Sandy Webb, the guard," said Gertrude-of-the-Sleeves, scowling upon me; "what did he say?" Before I could answer Boyd Connoway, the village do-nothing, enterprising idler and general boys' abettor, beckoned us across the road. He was on the top of a little knoll, thick with the yellow of broom and the richer orange of gorse. Here he had stretched himself very greatly at his ease.
It was a presence as quick, as agile, but more perfectly acquainted with the hidie-holes of the farmyard in fact, Boyd Connoway. Long before the others I got my eyes on him, and with the joy of a boy when a visitor enters the school at the dreariest hour of lessons, I rushed after him. To my surprise he went round the angle of the barn like a shot. But I had played at that game before.
So my grandfather, who had his "pirn" contracts to be shipped for England on certain days, used to call his sons about him, and devote himself and all of them to the service of repairing. Boyd Connoway, also, usually gave us the benefit of his universal genius for advice, and, when he chose, for handiness also. After tea some provisions had been carried to the mill by my mother on her way home.
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