Malcom by George MacDonald (e books for reading .txt) 📖

mouth when the black knife was out of Duncan's stocking, and brandished aloft in his shaking fist.

"Daddy!" cried Malcolm, "ye wadna kill twa Glenlyons in ae day- wad ye?"

"She would, my son Malcolm!-fifty of ta poars in one preath! Tey are ta children of wrath, and tey haf to pe testructiont."

"For an auld man ye hae killed enew for ae nicht," said Malcolm, and gently took the knife from his trembling hand. "Ye maun come hame the noo."

"Is ta tog tead then?" asked Duncan eagerly.

"Ow, na; he's breathin' yet," answered Malcolm.

"She'll not can co till ta tog will pe tead. Ta tog may want more killing."

"What a horrible savage!" said one of the lairds, a justice of the peace. "He ought to be shut up in a madhouse."

"Gien ye set aboot shuttin' up, sir, or my lord-I kenna whilk -ye'll hae to begin nearer hame," said Malcolm, as he stooped to pick up the broadsword, and so complete his possession of the weapons. "An' ye'll please to haud in min', that nane here is an injured man but my gran'father himsel'."

"Hey!" said the marquis; "what do you make of all my dishes?"

"'Deed, my lord, ye may comfort yersel' that they warna dishes wi barns (brains) i' them; for sic 's some scarce i' the Hoose o' Lossie."

"You're a long tongued rascal," said the marquis.

"A lang tongue may whiles be as canny as a lang spune, my lord; an' ye ken what that's for?"

The marquis burst into laughter.

"What do you make then of that horrible cut in your own hand?" asked the magistrate.

"I mak my ain business o' 't," answered Malcolm.

While this colloquy passed, Duncan had been feeling about for his pipes: having found them he clasped them to his bosom like a hurt child.

"Come home, come home," he said; "your own pard has refenched you."

Malcolm took him by the arm and led him away. He went without a word, still clasping his wounded bagpipes to his bosom.

"You'll hear from me in the morning, my lad," said the marquis in a kindly tone, as they were leaving the room.

"I hae no wuss to hear onything mair o' yer lordship. Ye hae done eneuch this nicht, my lord, to mak ye ashamed o' yersel' till yer dyin' day-gien ye hed ony pooer o' shame left in ye."

The military youth muttered something about insolence, and made a step towards him. Malcolm quitted his grandfather, and stepped again into his room.

"Come on," he said.

"No, no," interposed the marquis. "Don't you see the lad is hurt?"

"Lat him come on," said Malcolm; "I hae ae soon' han'. Here, my lord, tak the wapons, or the auld man 'll get a grip o' them again."

"I tell you no," shouted Lord Lossie. "Fred, get out-will you!"

The young gentleman turned on his heel, and Malcolm led his grandfather from the house without further molestation. It was all he could do, however, to get him home. The old man's strength was utterly gone. His knees bent trembling under him, and the arm which rested on his grandson's shook as with an ague fit. Malcolm was glad indeed when at length he had him safe in bed, by which time his hand had swollen to a great size, and the suffering grown severe.

Thoroughly exhausted by his late fierce emotions, Duncan soon fell into a troubled sleep, whereupon Malcolm went to Meg Partan, and begged her to watch beside him until he should return, informing her of the way his grandfather had been treated, and adding that he had gone into such a rage, that he feared he would be ill in consequence; and if he should be unable to do his morning's duty, it would almost break his heart.

"Eh!" said the Partaness, in a whisper, as they parted at Duncan's door, "a baad temper 's a frichtsome thing. I'm sure the times I hae telled him it wad be the ruin o' 'im!"

To Malcolm's gentle knock Miss Horn's door was opened by Jean.

"What d'ye wint at sic an oontimeous hoor," she said, "whan honest fowk's a' i' their nicht caips?"

"I want to see Miss Horn, gien ye please," he answered.

"I s' warran' she'll be in her bed an' snorin'," said Jean; "but I s' gang an' see."

Ere she went, however, Jean saw that the kitchen door was closed, for, whether she belonged to the class "honest folk" or not, Mrs Catanach was in Miss Horn's kitchen, and not in her nightcap.

Jean returned presently with an invitation for Malcolm to walk up to the parlour.

"I hae gotten a sma' mishanter, Miss Horn," he said, as he entered: "an I thocht I cudna du better than come to you, 'cause ye can haud yer tongue, an' that's mair nor mony ane the port o' Portlossie can, mem."

The compliment, correct in fact as well as honest in intent, was not thrown away on Miss Horn, to whom it was the more pleasing that she could regard it as a just tribute. Malcolm told her all the story, rousing thereby a mighty indignation in her bosom, a great fire in her hawk nose, and a succession of wild flashes in her hawk eyes; but when he showed her his hand,

"Lord, Malcolm!" she cried; "it's a mercy I was made wantin' feelin's, or I cudna hae bed the sicht. My puir bairn!"

Then she rushed to the stair and shouted,

"Jean, ye limmer! Jean! Fess some het watter, an' some linen cloots."

"I hae nane o' naither," replied Jean from the bottom of the stair.

"Mak up the fire an' put on some watter direckly.-I s' fin' some clooties," she added, turning to Malcolm, "gien I sud rive the tail frae my best Sunday sark."

She returned with rags enough for a small hospital, and until the grumbling Jean brought the hot water, they sat and talked in the glimmering light of one long beaked tallow candle.

"It's a terrible hoose, yon o' Lossie," said Miss Horn; "and there's been terrible things dune intill't. The auld markis was an ill man. I daurna say what he wadna hae dune, gien half the tales be true 'at they tell o' 'im; an' the last ane was little better. This ane winna be sae ill, but it's clear 'at he's tarred wi' the same stick."

"I dinna think he means onything muckle amiss," agreed Malcolm, whose wrath had by this time subsided a little, through the quieting influences of Miss Horn's sympathy. "He's mair thouchtless, I do believe, than ill contrived-an' a' for 's fun. He spak unco kin' like to me, efterhin, but I cudna accep' it, ye see, efter the w'y he had saired my daddy. But wadna ye hae thoucht he was auld eneuch to ken better by this time?"

"An auld fule 's the warst fule ava'," said Miss Horn. "But naething o' that kin', be 't as mad an' pranksome as ever sic ploy could be, is to be made mention o' aside the things at was mutit (muttered) o' 's brither. I budena come ower them till a young laad like yersel'. They war never said straucht oot, min' ye, but jist mintit at, like, wi' a doon draw o' the broos, an' a wee side shak o' the heid, as gien the body wad say, 'I cud tell ye gien I daur.' But I doobt mysel' gien onything was kent, though muckle was mair nor suspeckit. An' whaur there 's reik, there maun be fire."

As she spoke she was doing her best, with many expressions of pity, for his hand. When she had bathed and bound it up, and laid it in a sling, he wished her goodnight.

Arrived at home he found, to his dismay, that things had not been going well. Indeed, while yet several houses off he had heard the voices of the Partan's wife and his grandfather in fierce dispute. The old man was beside himself with anxiety about Malcolm; and the woman, instead of soothing him, was opposing everything he said, and irritating him frightfully. The moment he entered, each opened a torrent of accusations against the other, and it was with difficulty that Malcolm prevailed on the woman to go home. The presence of his boy soon calmed the old man, however, and he fell into a troubled sleep-in which Malcolm, who sat by his bed all night, heard him, at intervals, now lamenting over the murdered of Glenco, now exulting in a stab that had reached the heart of Glenlyon, and now bewailing his ruined bagpipes. At length towards morning he grew quieter, and Malcolm fell asleep in his chair.


CHAPTER XX: ADVANCES


When he woke, Duncan still slept, and Malcolm having got ready some tea for his grandfather's, and a little brose for his own breakfast, sat down again by the bedside, and awaited the old man's waking. The first sign of it that reached him was the feebly uttered question, -"Will ta tog be tead, Malcolm?"

"As sure 's ye stabbit him," answered Malcolm.

"Then she 'll pe getting herself ready," said Duncan, making a motion to rise.

"What for, daddy?"

"For ta hanging, my son," answered Duncan coolly.

"Time eneuch for that, daddy, whan they sen' to tell ye," returned Malcolm, cautious of revealing the facts of the case.

"Ferry coot!" said Duncan, and fell asleep again.

In a little while he woke with a start.

"She 'll be hafing an efil tream, my son Malcolm," he said; "or it was 'll pe more than a tream. Cawmill of Clenlyon, Cod curse him! came to her pedside; and he'll say to her, 'MacDhonuill,' he said, for pein' a tead man he would pe knowing my name,-'MacDhonuill,' he said, 'what tid you'll pe meaning py turking my posterity?' And she answered and said to him, 'I pray it had peen yourself, you tamned Clenlyon.' And he said to me, 'It 'll pe no coot wishing tat; it would be toing you no coot to turk me, for I'm a tead man.'- 'And a tamned man,' says herself, and would haf taken him py ta troat, put she couldn't mofe. 'Well, I'm not so sure of tat,' says he, 'for I 'fe pecked all teir partons.'-'And tid tey gif tem to you, you tog?' says herself.-'Well, I'm not sure,' says he; 'anyhow, I'm not tamned fery much yet.'-'She'll pe much sorry to hear it,' says herself. And she took care aalways to pe calling him some paad name, so tat he shouldn't say she 'll be forgifing him, whatever ta rest of tem might be toing. 'Put what troubles me,' says he, 'it 'll not pe apout myself at aall.'-'Tat 'll pe a wonter,' says her nain sel': 'and what may it pe apout, you cuttroat?'-'It 'll pe apout yourself,' says he. 'Apout herself?' -'Yes; apout yourself' says he. 'I'm sorry for you-for ta ting tat's to pe tone with him tat killed a man aal pecaase he pore my name, and he wasn't a son of mine at aall! Tere is no pot in hell teep enough to put him in!'-'Ten tey must make haste and tig one,' says herself; 'for she 'll pe hangt in a tay or two.'-So she 'll wake up, and beholt it was a tream!"

"An' no sic an ill dream efter a', daddy!" said Malcolm.

"Not an efil tream, my son, when it makes her aalmost wish