It contained nothing
more of the essential than I have already recorded, and Malcolm
was perplexed to think why what he had known all the time should
affect him so much in the telling. But when he ended with the bitter
cry--"And now you'll pe loving her no more, my poy: my chilt, my
Malcolm!" he understood it.
"Daddy! daddy!" he cried, throwing his arms round his neck and
kissing him, "I lo'e ye better nor ever. An' weel I may!"
"But how can you, when you 've cot none of ta plood in you, my
son?" persisted Duncan.
"I hae as muckle as ever I had, daddy."
"Yes, put you 'll tidn't know."
"But ye did, daddy."
"Yes, and inteet she cannot tell why she 'll pe loving you so much
herself aal ta time!"
"Weel, daddy, gien ye cud lo'e me sae weel, kennin' me nae bluid's
bluid o' yer ain--I canna help it: I maun lo'e ye mair nor ever,
noo' at I ken 't tu.--Daddy, daddy, I had nae claim upo' ye, an'
ye hae been father an' gran'father an' a' to me!"
"What could she do, Malcolm, my poy? Ta chilt had no one, and she
had no one, and so it wass. You must pe her own poy after all! And
she 'll not pe wondering put.--It might pe.--Yes, inteed not!"
His voice sank to the murmurs of a half uttered soliloquy, and as
he murmured he stroked Malcolm's cheek.
"What are ye efter noo daddy?" asked Malcolm.
The only sign that Duncan heard the question was the complete
silence that followed. When Malcolm repeated it, he said something
in Gaelic, but finished the sentence thus, apparently unaware of
the change of language:
"--only how else should she pe lovin you so much, Malcolm, my
son?"
"I ken what Maister Graham would say, daddy," rejoined Malcolm, at
a half guess.
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