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Updated: May 12, 2025
Andrew Truffey's white rabbit, whose pink eyes, now fixed and glazed, would no more delight the imagination of the poor cripple; and whose long furry hind legs would never more bang the ground in sovereign contempt, as he dared pursuit; for the dull little beast, having, with the stiffneckedness of fear, persisted in pulling against the string that tied him to the tail of Widow Wattles's great tom-cat, was now trailed ignominiously upon his side, with soiled fur and outstretched neck the last joint, and only dead one, of this bodiless tail.
I wonner that ye tak sic pains wi' me, sir, whan I was sic a nickum." The master could not reply. But he was more grateful for Truffey's generous forgiveness than he would have been for the richest living in Scotland. Such forgiveness is just giving us back ourselves clean and happy. And for what gift can we be more grateful? He vowed over again to do all he could for Truffey.
Perhaps a sticket minister might have a hand in making a minister that would not stick. Then the master read Truffey's queer composition aloud, and notwithstanding all his conscientious criticism, Truffey was delighted with his own work when removed to an objective distance by the master's reading. At length Mr Malison said: "It's time to go home, Andrew Truffey. Put on my cloak there.
Thomas took it with some sign of tenderness, and holding it up in his huge hand, put the question to the crowd in general. "Wha's aucht this?" "It's cripple Truffey's?" piped a shrill little voice. "Tell him 'at I'll account for't," rejoined Thomas, and putting the animal in his pocket, departed.
The next moment he bounded to his one foot and his crutch, and spanged over the bridge as if he had been gifted with six legs. When James reached the parapet, he could see nothing to account for the terror and eagerness in Truffey's pale face, nor for his precipitate flight.
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