--The doggie's awa
on 's traivels the day."
"'Deed, Mistress Catanach," persisted Malcolm, "I canna say I like
to hae my ain fish flung i' my face, nor yet to see ill-faured
tykes rin awa' wi' 't afore my verra een."
After the warning given him by Miss Horn, and the strange influence
her presence had had on his grandfather, Malcolm preferred keeping
up a negative quarrel with the woman.
"Dinna ca' ill names," she returned: "my dog wad tak it waur to be
ca'd an ill faured tyke, nor to hae fish flung in his face. Lat's
see what's i' yer basket, I say."
As she spoke, she laid her hand on the basket, but Malcolm drew
back, and turned away towards the gate.
"Lord safe us!" she cried, with a yelling laugh; "ye're no feared
at an auld wife like me?"
"I dinna ken; maybe ay an' maybe no--I wadna say. But I dinna
want to hae onything to du wi' ye, mem."
"Ma'colm MacPhail," said Mrs Catanach, lowering her voice to
a hoarse whisper, while every trace of laughter vanished from her
countenance, "ye hae had mair to du wi' me nor ye ken, an' aiblins
ye'll hae mair yet nor ye can weel help. Sae caw canny, my man."
"Ye may hae the layin' o' me oot," said Malcolm, "but it sanna be
wi' my wull; an' gien I hae ony life left i' me, I s' gie ye a fleg
(fright)."
"Ye may get a war yersel': I hae frichtit the deid afore noo. Sae
gang yer wa's to Mistress Coorthoup, wi' a flech (flea) i' yer lug
(ear). I wuss ye luck--sic luck as I wad wuss ye I--"
Her last words sounded so like a curse, that to overcome a cold
creep, Malcolm had to force a laugh.
Pages:
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119