"Wownded in ta hand and in ta foot!" said the seer: "what can it
mean? It must mean something, Malcolm, my son."
"Weel, daddy, we maun jist bide till we see," said Malcolm cheerfully.
A little talk followed, in the course of which it came into Malcolm's
head to tell his grandfather the dream he had had so much of the
first night he had slept in that room--but more for the sake of
something to talk about that would interest one who believed in
all kinds of prefigurations, than for any other reason.
Duncan sat moodily silent for some time, and then, with a great heave
of his broad chest, lifted up his head, like one who had formed a
resolution, and said:
"The hour has come. She has long peen afrait to meet it, put it has
come, and Allister will meet it.--She 'll not pe your cran'father,
my son."
He spoke the words with perfect composure, but as soon as they were
uttered, burst into a wail, and sobbed like a child.
"Ye'll be my ain father than?" said Malcolm.
"No, no, my son. She'll not pe anything that's your own at aal!"
And the tears flowed down his channelled cheeks.
For one moment Malcolm was silent, utterly bewildered. But he
must comfort the old man first, and think about what he had said
afterwards.
"Ye're my ain daddy, whatever ye are!" he said. "Tell me a' aboot
it, daddy."
"She 'll tell you all she 'll pe knowing, my son, and she nefer
told a lie efen to a Cawmill."
He began his story in haste, as if anxious to have it over, but had
to pause often from fresh outbursts of grief.
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