Looking round, he sought the eye of his master.
Had Lord Lossie been wise, he would at once have yielded, and sat
down to endure to the end. But he jumped on the form next him, and
appealed to the common sense of the assembly.
"Don't you see the man is mad?" he said, pointing to the preacher.
"He is foaming at the mouth. For God's sake look after your women:
he will have them all in hysterics in another five minutes. I wonder
any man of sense would countenance such things!"
As to hysterics, the fisher folk had never heard of them; and
though the words of the preacher were not those of soberness, they
yet believed them the words of truth, and himself a far saner man
than the marquis.
"Gien a body comes to oor meetin'," cried one of them, a fine
specimen of the argle bargling Scotchman--a creature known and
detested over the habitable globe--"he maun just du as we du,
an' sit it oot. It's for yer sowl's guid."
The preacher, checked in full career, was standing with open mouth,
ready to burst forth in a fresh flood of oratory so soon as the
open channels of hearing ears should be again granted him; but all
were now intent on the duel between the marquis and Jamie Ladle.
"If, the next time you came, you found the entrance barricaded,"
said the marquis, "what would you say to that?"
"Ow, we wad jist tak doon the sticks," answered Ladle.
"You would call it persecution, wouldn't you?"
"Ay; it wad be that."
"And what do you call it now, when you prevent a man from going
his own way, after he has had enough of your foolery?"
"Ow, we ca' 't dissiplene!" answered the fellow.
Pages:
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478