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MacDonald, George, 1824-1905

"Malcolm"

Care 's my case!"
"My leddy, she's ower ill tongued for you to hearken till,"
said Malcolm, turning to Florimel who stood in the door white and
trembling. "Jist gang doon, an' tell my gran'father to sen' the
dog up. There's surely some gait o' garrin' her haud her tongue!"
Mrs Catanach threw a terrified glance towards Lady Florimel.
"Indeed I shall do nothing of the kind!" replied Florimel. "For
shame!"
"Hoots, my leddy!" returned Malcolm; "I only said it to try the
effec' o' 't. It seems no that ill."
"Ye son o' a deevil's soo!" cried the woman; "I s' hae amen's o'
ye for this, gien I sud ro'st my ain hert to get it."
"'Deed, but ye re duin that fine a'ready! That foul brute o' yours
has gotten his arles (earnest) tu. I wonner what he thinks o sawmon
troot noo!--Eh, mem?"
"Have done, Malcolm," said Florimel. "I am ashamed of you. If the
woman is not hurt, we have no business in her house."
"Hear till her!" cried Mrs Catanach contemptuously. "The woman!"
But Lady Florimel took no heed. She had already turned and was going
down the stair. Malcolm followed in silence; nor did another word
from Mrs Catanach overtake them.
Arrived in the street, Florimel restored his pipes to Duncan
--who, letting the dog go, at once proceeded to fill the bag--
and, instead of continuing her way to the harbour, turned back,
accompanied by Malcolm, Demon, and Lady Stronach's Strathspey.
"What a horrible woman that is!" she said with a shudder.


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