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Dr Macphail lit his pipe and, leaning over the rail, searched the heavens for the Southern Cross. After two years at the front and a wound that had taken longer to heal than it should, he was glad to settle down quietly at Apia for twelve months at least, and he felt already better for the journey.
At these times his wife remained at their headquarters and managed the mission. Dr Macphail felt his heart sink when he considered the efficiency with which she certainly managed it. She spoke of the depravity of the natives in a voice which nothing could hush, but with a vehemently unctuous horror. Her sense of delicacy was singular.
But the next moment he came to himself, saying, in a tone of assumed composure: "You'll pe knowing now, my laty, why she'll pe hating ta very name of Clenlyon." "But it was not your grandfather that Glenlyon killed, Mr MacPhail was it?" "And whose grandfather would it pe then, my lady?" returned Duncan, drawing himself up. "The Glenco people weren't MacPhails.
He knew his wife would be vexed with him if he found Miss Thompson's effrontery amusing. They finished the meal in silence. When it was over the two ladies got up and took their work, Mrs Macphail was making another of the innumerable comforters which she had turned out since the beginning of the war, and the doctor lit his pipe.
Malcolm, however, caught sight of him and his attitude in time, and, fearful of breaking his word to Lizzy, pulled himself up abruptly a few steps from the top just as Florimel appeared. "MacPhail," she said, sweeping to the stair like an indignant goddess, "I discharge you from my service. Leave the house instantly."
But Davidson remained in his chair and with abstracted eyes stared at the table. At last he got up and without a word went out of the room. They heard him go down and they heard Miss Thompson's defiant "Come in" when he knocked at the door. He remained with her for an hour. And Dr Macphail watched the rain. It was beginning to get on his nerves.
Dazed with fear he turned and had staggered halfway across the yard, as if going home, before he recovered himself. Then he turned again, and with what dignity he could scrape together said "MacPhail, you go about your business." In his foolish heart he believed Malcolm had made the brute strike out. "I canna weel gang till Stoat comes hame," answered Malcolm.
I hae sic a regaird for yer son 'at afore I wad du onything to hairm him, I wad hae my twa han's chappit frae the shackle bane." "Surely, my dear Mr MacPhail," returned the lady in her most persuasive tones, and with her sweetest smile, "you cannot call it harming a poor idiot to restore him to the care of his own mother!" "That's as it turnt oot," rejoined Malcolm.
"Haud yer tongue afore ye lee, man," interrupted his wife. "Ye ken weel eneuch ye wad du what Ma'colm MacPhail wad hae ye du, for ony factor in braid Scotlan'."
But there was not much danger of such a mood growing habitual with one who knew Duncan MacPhail, Blue Peter, and the schoolmaster not to mention Miss Horn. To know one person who is positively to be trusted, will do more for a man's moral nature yes, for his spiritual nature than all the sermons he has ever heard or ever can hear.
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