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Updated: May 29, 2025
"What way could a Gairman pit my name on a bullet?" demanded Nigg triumphantly. "He doesna ken it!" "Man," exclaimed Cosh, shedding some of his philosophic calm, "can ye no unnerstand that what I telled ye was jist a mainner of speakin'? When I said that a man's name was on a bullet, I didna mean that it was written there."
But what fowk taks in han', fowk sud put oot o' han' in a proper mainner, and no misguggle 't a'thegither like yon. An' for what they say i' the toon, there's Mistress Catanach " "Mistress Catanach is a paad 'oman," said Duncan. "I wad advise you, piper, to haud a quaiet sough about her. She's no to be meddlet wi', Mistress Catanach, I can tell ye. Gien ye anger her, it'll be the waur for ye.
"That may be 's it may, but in cam the prence, wi' a laich boo, an' a gran upstrauchtin' again; an' though, as I say, he was flashin' a' ower, his mainner was quaiet as the munelicht, jist grace itsel'. He profest himsel unco' indebtit for the shelter accordit him; an' his een aye soucht the leddy's, an' his admiration o' her was plain in ilka luik an' gestur', an' though his words were feow, they a' meant mair nor they said.
"I dinna mean onything o' the kind," he roared. "What I intend tae imply is this, Sandy Nigg. Some place over there there is a bullet in a Gairman's pooch, and one day that bullet will find its way intil your insides as sure as if your name was written on it! That's what I meant. Jist a mainner of speakin'. Dae ye unnerstand me the noo?"
"There was some speech," he went on hurriedly, with a quaver in his voice, "o' pittin' him intill the asylum at Aberdeen, an' no lattin' him scoor the queentry this gait, they said; but it wad hae been sheer cruelty, for the cratur likes naething sac weel as rinnin' aboot, an' does no' mainner o' hurt. A verra bairn can guide him. "Is nothing known about him?"
It's weel kent ower a' Glamerton, Mr Bruce, in what mainner you and yer haill hoose hae borne yersels to that orphan lassie; and I'll gang into ilka chop, as I gang doon the street, that is, whaur I'm acquant, and I'll jist tell them whaur I'm gaun, and what for." The thing which beyond all others Bruce dreaded was unremunerative notoriety. "Hoots!
She was on a visit to Lady Janet Gordon, an elderly spinster, who lived in Park-street. 'Are you quite sure she's not an adventuress, Shargar? 'It's o' no mainner o' use to tell ye what I'm sure or no sure o', Robert, in sic a case. But I'll manage, somehoo, 'at ye sall see her yersel', an' syne I'll speir back yer ain queston at ye. 'Weel, hae ye tauld her a' aboot yersel'?
But," she hurried on, as if eager to obliterate the scoring impression of her late words "that she's been sayin' 't, there can be no mainner o' doot. I saw her mysel' rinnin' aboot the toon, frae ane till anither, wi' her lang hair doon the lang back o' her, an' fleein' i' the win', like a body dementit. The only question is, whether or no she believes 't hersel'."
'Ye may say, in a mainner, 'at he did; for he was sair afflickit afore he wan up to be the King's richt han'; an' syne he keepit a hantle o' ill aff o' 's brithren. 'Sae, gran'mither, ither fowk nor Christ micht suffer for the sins o' their neebors? 'Ay, laddie, mony a ane has to do that. But no to mak atonement, ye ken. Naething but the sufferin' o' the spotless cud du that.
He was a bubble burst, his backbone that braced him to the tension of a cuirassier of guards melted into air, into thin air, and a ludicrous limpness came on him, while his eye fell, and confusion showed about his mouth. "In the wars!" he repeated. "Weel no jist a'thegether what ye micht call i' the wars though in a mainner o' speakin', gey near't.
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