EBOOK MALCOLM ***
Produced by Martin Robb
MALCOLM
by George MacDonald
CHAPTER I: MISS HORN
"Na, na; I hae nae feelin's, I'm thankfu' to say. I never kent ony
guid come o' them. They're a terrible sicht i' the gait."
"Naebody ever thoucht o' layin' 't to yer chairge, mem."
"'Deed, I aye had eneuch adu to du the thing I had to du, no to
say the thing 'at naebody wad du but mysel'. I hae had nae leisur'
for feelin's an' that," insisted Miss Horn.
But here a heavy step descending the stair just outside the
room attracted her attention, and checking the flow of her speech
perforce, with three ungainly strides she reached the landing.
"Watty Witherspail! Watty!" she called after the footsteps down
the stair.
"Yes, mem," answered a gruff voice from below.
"Watty, whan ye fess the bit boxie, jist pit a hemmer an' a puckle
nails i' your pooch to men' the hen hoose door. The tane maun be
atten't till as weel's the tither."
"The bit boxie" was the coffin of her third cousin Griselda Campbell,
whose body lay on the room on her left hand as she called down the
stair. Into that on her right Miss Horn now re-entered, to rejoin
Mrs Mellis, the wife of the principal draper in the town, who had
called ostensibly to condole with her, but really to see the corpse.
"Aih! she was taen yoong!" sighed the visitor, with long drawn
tones and a shake of the head, implying that therein lay ground of
complaint, at which poor mortals dared but hint.
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