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Updated: June 7, 2025
Even indignation with her figure could not conquer her appetite, and she divided the cake between them, eating her share before she spoke. "Seed cake's the nicest thing in the world," she said at last. "I love the wee blacks in it, don't you, Wullie? Wullie, when I'm dying I'll come here and Bessie shall make seed cake. Then I shall never die.
She planted stakes round it to keep off the force of the wind. But that year the flowering bore no fruit. And Wullie smiled at her attempts to help the tree. "The roots are doon too deep, lassie," he said. "Sae deep ye canna reach them. There's little ye can dae for tree or man, Marcella, but juist not hinder them.
"Oh, man, Peter! it's in my mind ye'll no hear sic pipin' again, forbye there's nae man Hielander nor Lowlander has juist the trick o' the 'warblers' like me, an' it's no vera like we shall e'er meet again i' this warld, man, Peter. But I'll aye think o' ye away there in Glenure, when I play the 'Wullie Wallace' bit tune I'll aye think o' ye, Peter, man."
"Come to me, Wullie!" he implored, very pitifully. "'Tis the first time iver I kent ye not come and me whistlin'. What ails ye, lad?" He recrossed the bridge, walking blindly like a sobbing child; and yet dry-eyed. Over the dead body he stooped. "What ails ye, Wullie?" he asked again. "Will you, too, leave me?"
"Onless" with shivering sarcasm "you and yer Wullie are thinkin' o' winnin'." The little man rose from his solitary seat at the back of the room and pattered across. "Wullie and I are thinkin' o' t," he whispered loudly in the old man's ear. "And mair: what Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull think o' doin', that, ye may remairk, Mr. Thornton, they do. Next year we rin, and next year we win.
And down he went at length, silent still never a cry should they wring from him in his agony; the Venus glued to that mangled pad; Rasper beneath him now; three at his throat; two at his ears; a crowd on flanks and body. The Terror of the Border was down at last! "Wullie, ma Wullie!" screamed M'Adam, bounding down the slope a crook's length in front of the rest. "Wullie! Wullie! to me!"
"Happen I could lend the little mon a hand," said he; but they withheld him forcibly. Inside was pandemonium: bangings like the doors of hell; the bellowing of that great voice; the patter of little feet; the slithering of a body on the floor; and always that shrill, beseeching prayer, "Wullie, Wullie, let me to ye!" and, in a scream, "By , Kirby, I'll be wi' ye soon!"
Some of the Lashcairn women wouldna think of ruling themselves. Then they go after the man they need, like the witch-woman. And take him." Marcella frowned. "It sends them on strange roads sometimes," said Wullie, and would say no more. It was Marcella's rest night, and tired as she was, she lay thinking long in the silence.
Aiblins we'll beat him yet." In this strain he continued until David, his patience exhausted, asked roughly: "What is't yo' mumblin' aboot? Wha is it yo'll beat, you and yer Wullie?" The lad's tone was as contemptuous as his words. Long ago he had cast aside any semblance of respect for his father. M'Adam only rubbed his knees and giggled. "Hark to the dear lad, Wullie!
She wud be gled, though she wud greet, if I got a bullet the morn. There ye are! That's me! 'Wullie! Macgregor exclaimed, holding out his hand, which the other ignored. 'I'm rotten, tae, he went on, bitterly. 'Fine I ken it. But I never had an equal chance wi' you. I'm no blamin' ye. Ye've aye shared me what ye had.
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