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MacDonald, George, 1824-1905

"Malcolm"

Ere he reached that of his
room, he heard his voice inviting him to enter.
"Come to condole with me, Malcolm?" said Mr Graham cheerily.
"What for, sir?" asked Malcolm.
"You haven't heard, then, that I'm going to be sent about my
business? At least, it's more than likely."
Malcolm dropped into a seat, and stared like an idol. Could he have
heard the words? In his eyes Mr Graham was the man of the place--
the real person of the parish. He dismissed! The words breathed of
mingled impiety and absurdity.
The schoolmaster burst out laughing at him.
"I'm feart to speyk, sir," said Malcolm. "Whatever I say, I'm bun'
to mak a fule o' mysel'! What in plain words div ye mean, sir?"
"Somebody has been accusing me of teaching heresy--in the school
to my scholars, and in my own house to the fisherfolk: the presbytery
has taken it up, and here is my summons to appear before them and
answer to the charge."
"Guid preserve 's, sir! And is this the first ye hae h'ard o't?"
"The very first."
"An' what are ye gauin' to do?"
"Appear, of course."
"An' what 'll ye say to them?"
"I shall answer their questions."
"They 'll condemn ye!"
"I do not doubt it."
"An' what neist?"
"I shall have to leave Scotland, I suppose."
"Sir, it 's awfu'."
The horror stricken expression of Malcolm's face drew a second
merry laugh from Mr Graham.
"They can't burn me," he said: "you needn't look like that."
"But there's something terrible wrang, sir, whan sic men hae pooer
ower sic a man.


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