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Updated: June 2, 2025
"Cudna we gang an' see the maister the day?" said Blue Peter, changing the subject. He meant Mr Graham, the late schoolmaster of Portlossie, whom the charge of heretical teaching had driven from the place. "We canna weel du that till we hear whaur he is. The last time Miss Horn h'ard frae him, he was changin' his lodgin's, an' ye see the kin' o' a place this Lon'on is," answered Malcolm.
"Laird, laird! they've taen awa' Phemy, an' we dinna ken whaur to luik for her," cried the poor father aloud. Almost the same instant, and as if he had issued from the ground, the laird stood before them. The men started back with astonishment soon changed into pity, for there was light enough to see how miserable the poor fellow looked.
Where now his metaphysics, his gibes on the physicalities, the moralities, the spiritualities? all bundled up in a vibrating chord. "Whaur fae, Charlie," had she repeated, still looking at him. "The devil!" cried he, stung by her searching look, which brought back a gleam of the old rebellion.
"I must have him brought here there is no other way." "An' whaur wad be the guid o' that, mem? By yer ain shawin', he wad rin oot o' 's verra body to win awa' frae ye." "I did not mean by force," returned Mrs Stewart. "Some one he has confidence in must come with him. Nothing else will give me a chance.
Deith canna weel be muckle like onything we think aboot it; but there maun surely be a heap o' fowk unco dreary an' fusionless i' the warl' deith taks us til; an' the mair I think aboot it, the mair likly it seems we'll hae a heap to du wi' them a sair wark tryin' to lat them ken what they are, an' whaur they cam frae, an' hoo they maun gang to win hame for deith can no more be yer hame nor a sair fa' upo' the ro'd be yer bed.
"No, nor I'm nane sae auld nayther. The gudeman in the corner there, he's auld and dune gin'ye like, but no me no me! Gin he warna spared to me, I could even get a man yet," continued the lively old lady, "an' whaur wad ye be then, my lass, I wad like to ken?" "Perhaps I could get one too, grannie," she said. And she shook her head with an air of triumph.
Alone with the darkness, he allowed himself the rare relief of tears; and at length fell asleep. He awoke to find his father standing at his bedside. The little man held a feeble dip-candle in his hand, which lit his sallow face in crude black and white. In the doorway, dimly outlined, was the great figure of Red Wull. "Whaur ha' ye been the day?" the little man asked.
"A picnic is whaur ye hae onything ye fancy to eat; gude things ye wullna be haein' ilka day, ye mind." He rang a call-bell, and a grinning waiter laddie popped up so quickly the lassie caught her breath. "Eneugh broo for aince," said Tammy. "Porridge that isna burned," suggested Ailie. Such pitiful poverty of the imagination!
"But, wuman," he went on, "I fancy I hae set e'en upo' your e'en afore I canna weel say for yer face. Whaur come ye frae?" "Ken ye a place they ca' Daurside?" she rejoined. "Daurside's a gey lang place," answered Donal; "an' this maun be aboot the tae en' o' 't, I'm thinkin'." "Ye're no far wrang there," she returned; "an' ye hae a gey gleg tongue i' yer heid for a laad frae Daurside."
"On the streets o' Halifax, sir, near the wharves, sir, that's whaur ye'll come across them, but, dae ye ken noo, I aye thocht that savages were black, made sae I mean whan they were born into this worl'. But, dae ye min', it's masel' thinks that some o' them could be made white, if only ane had soap an' water enough to dae't.
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