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"Weel, ae mornin', verra ear', she gaed oot intill her gairden, an luikit ower the hedge; an' what sud she see but this same yoong nobleman tak the bairn frae a puir traivellin' body, help her ower a dyke, and gie her her bairn again! He was at her ain side in anither meenute, but he was jist that meenute ahint his tryst, an' she was in a cauld rage at him.
Dinna think onything atween you an' her wad hae brocht me at this time o' nicht to disturb ye in yer ain chaumer. Na, na! Whatever was atween you twa had an honest man intill 't, an' I wad hae taen my time to gie ye back yer dockiments. But there 's some o' anither mark here." As she spoke, she drew from the parcel a small cardboard box, broken at the sides, and tied with a bit of tape.
"But there's mair intill 't than that," persisted Malcolm. "I doobt gien there was ony whusky i' thae times aither; for I hard a gentleman say the ither day 'at hoo he had tastit the first whusky 'at was ever distillt in Scotlan', an' horrible stuff it was, he said, though it was 'maist as auld as the forty-five." "Confound your long wind! Go on," said the marquis peremptorily.
"Because the ocean sudna mak a mou' at the puir earth burnie that cudna help what ran intill 't." "It took it in though, and made it clean, for all the pain it couldn't help either." "Weel, gien ye luik at it that gait!" said Malcolm. In the evening his grandfather came to see him, and sat down by his bedside, full of a tender anxiety which he was soon able to alleviate.
"She may lay 'at she likes, but it's no ilka egg laid has a chuckie intill 't," answered Miss Horn sententiously. "Jist ye gang hame to auld Duncan, an' tell him to turn the thing ower in 's min' till he's able to sweir to the verra nicht he fan' the bairn in 's lap. But no ae word maun he say to leevin' sowl aboot it afore it's requiret o' 'im."
The lee lang day he was among 's fowk workin' his michty wark. Whan the nicht cam', in which no man could wark, he gaed hame till 's Father, as 't war. Eh me! but it's weel to ha'e a man like the schuilmaister to put trowth intill ye. I kenna what comes o' them 'at ha'e drucken maisters, or sic as cares for naething but coontin' an Laitin, an' the likes o' that!"
But the fowk here likes the cry o' 't well eneuch, an' hae 't to wauk them ilka mornin'. Yon was my gran'father ye heard afore I fired the gun. Yon was his pipes waukin' them, honest fowk." "And what made you fire the gun in that reckless way? Don't you know it is very dangerous?" "Dangerous mem my leddy, I mean! There was naething intill 't but a pennyworth o' blastin' pooder.
Maybe he'll open mair een i' yer heids nor ye kent ye had." "Weel, maybe we micht du waur. I s' mention the thing to Bow o' meal an' Jeames Gentle, an' see what they say There's nae guid to be gotten o' gaein' to the minister, ye see: there's naething in him, as the saw says, but what the spune pits intill him." With this somewhat unfavourable remark, Blue Peter turned homewards.
"Eh, my leddy!" he cried, after staring for a while in breathless bewilderment, "it's jist like a byke o' frozen bees! Eh! gien they war a' to come to life an' stick their stangs o' trowth intill a body, the waukin' up wad be awfu'! It jist gars my heid gang roon'!" he added, after a pause. "It is a fine thing," said the girl, "to have such a library." "'Deed is 't, my leddy!
"There ye are at yer English again! an' misgugglin' Scriptur' wi' 't an' a' this upo' Setterday nicht maist the Sawbath day! Weel, I ha'e aye h'ard 'at Lon'on was an awfu' place, but I little thoucht the verra air o' 't wad sae sune turn an honest laad like Ma'colm MacPhail intill a scoffer. But maybe it's the markis o' 'im, an' no the muckle toon 'at's made the differ.
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