Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Malcom by George MacDonald (e books for reading .txt) 📖
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- Author: George MacDonald
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lat me see ye aboot the place again. But afore ye gang, I gie ye fair warnin' 'at I mean to win at a' yer byganes."
The blood of red wrath was seething in Mrs Catanach's face; she drew herself up, and stood flaming before him, on the verge of explosion.
"Gang frae the hoose," said Malcolm, "or I'll set the muckle hun' to shaw ye the gait."
Her face turned the colour of ashes, and with hanging cheeks and scared but not the less wicked eyes, she turned from the room. Malcolm watched her out of the house, then following her into the town, brought Miss Horn back with him to aid in the last of earthly services, and hastened to Duncan's cottage.
But to his amazement and distress, it was forsaken, and the hearth cold. In his attendance on his father, he had not seen the piper -he could not remember for how many days; and on inquiry he found that, although he had not been missed, no one could recall having seen him later than three or four days agone. The last he could hear of him in the neighbourhood was, that, about a week before, a boy had spied him sitting on a rock in the Baillies' Barn, with his pipes in his lap. Searching the cottage, he found that his broadsword and dirk, with all his poor finery, were gone.
That same night Mrs Catanach also disappeared.
A week after, what was left of Lord Lossie was buried. Malcolm followed the hearse with the household. Miss Horn walked immediately behind him, on the arm of the schoolmaster. It was a great funeral, with a short road, for the body was laid in the church-close to the wall, just under the crusader with the Norman canopy.
Lady Florimel wept incessantly for three days; on the fourth she looked out on the sea and thought it very dreary; on the fifth she found a certain gratification in hearing herself called the marchioness; on the sixth she tried on her mourning, and was pleased; on the seventh she went with the funeral and wept again; on the eighth came Lady Bellair, who on the ninth carried her away.
To Malcolm she had not spoken once.
Mr Graham left Portlossie.
Miss Horn took to her bed for a week.
Mr Crathie removed his office to the House itself, took upon him the function of steward as well as factor, had the state rooms dismantled, and was master of the place.
Malcolm helped Stoat with the horses, and did odd jobs for Mr Crathie. From his likeness to the old marquis, as he was still called, the factor had a favour for him, firmly believing the said marquis to be his father, and Mrs Stewart his mother. Hence he allowed him a key to the library, of which Malcolm made good use.
The story of Malcolm's plans and what came of them, requires another book.
THE END.
Imprint
The blood of red wrath was seething in Mrs Catanach's face; she drew herself up, and stood flaming before him, on the verge of explosion.
"Gang frae the hoose," said Malcolm, "or I'll set the muckle hun' to shaw ye the gait."
Her face turned the colour of ashes, and with hanging cheeks and scared but not the less wicked eyes, she turned from the room. Malcolm watched her out of the house, then following her into the town, brought Miss Horn back with him to aid in the last of earthly services, and hastened to Duncan's cottage.
But to his amazement and distress, it was forsaken, and the hearth cold. In his attendance on his father, he had not seen the piper -he could not remember for how many days; and on inquiry he found that, although he had not been missed, no one could recall having seen him later than three or four days agone. The last he could hear of him in the neighbourhood was, that, about a week before, a boy had spied him sitting on a rock in the Baillies' Barn, with his pipes in his lap. Searching the cottage, he found that his broadsword and dirk, with all his poor finery, were gone.
That same night Mrs Catanach also disappeared.
A week after, what was left of Lord Lossie was buried. Malcolm followed the hearse with the household. Miss Horn walked immediately behind him, on the arm of the schoolmaster. It was a great funeral, with a short road, for the body was laid in the church-close to the wall, just under the crusader with the Norman canopy.
Lady Florimel wept incessantly for three days; on the fourth she looked out on the sea and thought it very dreary; on the fifth she found a certain gratification in hearing herself called the marchioness; on the sixth she tried on her mourning, and was pleased; on the seventh she went with the funeral and wept again; on the eighth came Lady Bellair, who on the ninth carried her away.
To Malcolm she had not spoken once.
Mr Graham left Portlossie.
Miss Horn took to her bed for a week.
Mr Crathie removed his office to the House itself, took upon him the function of steward as well as factor, had the state rooms dismantled, and was master of the place.
Malcolm helped Stoat with the horses, and did odd jobs for Mr Crathie. From his likeness to the old marquis, as he was still called, the factor had a favour for him, firmly believing the said marquis to be his father, and Mrs Stewart his mother. Hence he allowed him a key to the library, of which Malcolm made good use.
The story of Malcolm's plans and what came of them, requires another book.
THE END.
Imprint
Publication Date: 05-21-2008
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