chapping at the man's door, and crying 'boo' in his lum, and

puttin' poother in his fire, and pee-oys (1) in his window; till

the man thocht it was auld Hornie was come seekin' him. Weel, to

mak a lang story short, Wully gaed gyte. At the hinder end, they

couldnae get him frae his knees, but he just roared and prayed and

grat straucht on, till he got his release. It was fair murder,

a'body said that. Ask John Paul - he was brawly ashamed o' that

game, him that's sic a Christian man! Grand doin's for the Master

o' Ball'ntrae!" I asked him what the Master had thought of it

himself. "How would I ken?" says he. "He never said naething."

And on again in his usual manner of banning and swearing, with

every now and again a "Master of Ballantrae" sneered through his

nose. It was in one of these confidences that he showed me the

Carlisle letter, the print of the horse-shoe still stamped in the

paper. Indeed, that was our last confidence; for he then expressed

himself so ill-naturedly of Mrs. Henry that I had to reprimand him

sharply, and must thenceforth hold him at a distance.

My old lord was uniformly kind to Mr. Henry; he had even pretty

ways of gratitude, and would sometimes clap him on the shoulder and

say, as if to the world at large: "This is a very good son to me."

And grateful he was, no doubt, being a man of sense and justice.

But I think that was all, and I am sure Mr. Henry thought so. The

love was all for the dead son. Not that this was often given

breath to; indeed, with me but once. My lord had asked me one day

how I got on with Mr. Henry, and I had told him the truth.

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