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Updated: June 7, 2025
And noo they're takin' her awa', and 'twill be night agin. We've cherished her, we've garnished her, we've loved her like oor ain; and noo she maun gang to strangers who know her not." He rose to his feet, and the great dog rose with him. His voice heightened to a scream, and he swayed with the Cup in his arms till it seemed he must fall. "Did they win her fair, Wullie?
These letters she burnt usually, though sometimes she made little boats of them and floated them out to sea, and sometimes she pushed them into the shifting sands through fissures on Lashnagar. They comforted her strangely; they were adoration and love crystallized. Her only friendliness came from Hunchback Wullie, when she could escape from the book-room and run down to his hut.
"And this," holding up the paper, "tells you that they ken as I ken noo, as maist o' them ha' kent this mony a day, that your Wullie, Red Wull the Terror " "Go on." "Is " "Yes." "The Black Killer." It was spoken. The frayed string was snapped at last. The little man's hand flashed to the bottle that stood before him. "Ye liar!" he shrieked, and threw it with all his strength at the boy's head.
One quick glance he shot from his ragged eyes at the little flying form in front; then with a roar like a waterfall plunged toward it, shaking off the bloody leeches as he went. "Wullie! Wullie! I'm wi' ye!" cried that little voice, now so near. Through through through! an incomparable effort and his last. They hung to his throat, they clung to his muzzle, they were round and about him.
Marcella, standing by Wullie, was shivering with nervous dread, and suddenly noting his red-rimmed eyes, blazing and wild, she clutched Wullie's arm. "Wullie look at him!" she whispered. "He's been at the bar'l," muttered Wullie, and with a cry she started forward. But Wullie caught her back gently.
"Dinna finger it!" ordered M'Adam. "Shall! "Shan't! Wullie, keep him aff." Which the great dog proceeded to do amid the laughter of the onlookers. Among the last, James Moore was borne past the little man. At sight of him, M'Adam's face assumed an expression of intense concern. "Man, Moore!" he cried, peering forward as though in alarm; "man, Moore, ye're green positeevely verdant.
Yon tree may only have one fruit that will seed. And so life goes on " He stroked his beard and stared over the sea to where the brown-sailed herring boats of his brother and his nephew were coming in through the morning sunlight. "It's a bit sad, isn't it?" Marcella said dreamily. "It seems hard on the tree somehow, Wullie. Just as if the poor tree was only a path for the new tree to walk along "
"Was it God who came along that night?" asked Marcella doubtfully. Wullie thought it was. But she found her father's religion even more difficult than any of his other obsessions. It made him eager and pathetic. He had never tried to make drunkards of people; Marcella he had impatiently tried to make a rationalist; but now he spent all his time trying to convert them.
"He's no there, Wullie! He's no there!" He jumped down from the gate. Throwing all caution to the winds, he reeled recklessly across the yard. The drunken delirium of battle was on him. The fever of anticipated victory flushed his veins. At length he would take toll for the injuries of years.
The best sheep-dog as iver penned a flock Adam M'Adam's Red Wull!" He pauses, the pewter at his lips, and looks at his audience with flashing eyes. There is no response from them. "Wullie, here's to you!" he cries. "Luck and life to ye, ma trusty fier! Death and defeat to yer enemies!" "'The warld's warld's wrack we share o't, The warstle and the care o't;"
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