"
"I s' tak guid care o' that, my lord. I wad as sune think o' han'lin'
a book wi' wark-like han's as I wad o' branderin' a mackeral ohn
cleaned it oot."
"And when we have visitors, you 'll be careful not to get in their
way."
"I wull that, my lord."
"And now," said his lordship rising, "I want you to take a letter
to Mrs Stewart of Kirkbyres.--Can you ride?"
"I can ride the bare back weel eneuch for a fisher loon," said
Malcolm; "but I never was upon a saiddle i' my life."
"The sooner you get used to one the better. Go and tell Stoat to
saddle the bay mare. Wait in the yard: I will bring the letter out
to you myself."
"Verra weel, my lord!" said Malcolm. He knew, from sundry remarks
he had heard about the stables, that the mare in question was a
ticklish one to ride, but would rather have his neck broken than
object.
Hardly was she ready, when the marquis appeared, accompanied by Lady
Florimel--both expecting to enjoy a laugh at Malcolm's expense.
But when the mare was brought out, and he was going to mount her
where she stood, something seemed to wake in the marquis's heart,
or conscience, or wherever the pigmy Duty slept that occupied the
all but sinecure of his moral economy: he looked at Malcolm for a
moment, then at the ears of the mare hugging her neck, and last at
the stones of the paved yard.
"Lead her on to the turf, Stoat," he said.
The groom obeyed, all followed, and Malcolm mounted. The same
instant he lay on his back on the grass, amidst a general laugh,
loud on the part of marquis and lady, and subdued on that of the
servants.
Pages:
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343