"My leddy, my leddy," he cried, "winna ye bide for 't?"
He went bounding after her like a deer. She heard him call, and
stood holding the door half open.
"It's the battle o' Armageddon, my leddy," he cried, as he came
within hearing distance.
"The battle of what?" she exclaimed, bewildered. "I really can't
understand your savage Scotch."
"Hoot, my leddy! the battle o' Armageddon 's no ane o' the Scots
battles; it's the battle atween the richt and the wrang, 'at ye
read aboot i' the buik o' the Revelations."
"What on earth are you talking about?" returned Lady Florimel in
dismay, beginning to fear that her squire was losing his senses.
"It's jist what ye was sayin,' my leddy: sic a pomp as yon bude to
hing abune a gran' battle some gait or ither."
"What has the catching of fish to do with a battle in the Revelations?"
said the girl, moving a little within the door.
"Weel, my leddy, gien I took in han' to set it furth to ye, I wad
hae to tell ye a' that Mr Graham has been learnin' me sin ever I
can min.' He says 'at the whole economy o' natur is fashiont unco
like that o' the kingdom o' haven: its jist a gradation o' services,
an' the highest en' o' ony animal is to contreebute to the life o'
ane higher than itsel'; sae that it's the gran' preevilege o' the
fish we tak, to be aten by human bein's, an' uphaud what's abune
them."
"That's a poor consolation to the fish," said Lady Florimel.
"Hoo ken ye that, my leddy? Ye can tell nearhan' as little aboot
the hert o' a herrin'--sic as it has--as the herrin' can tell
aboot yer ain, whilk, I'm thinkin', maun be o' the lairgest size.
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