LITMIR.BIZ

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I s' jist let her aff whan it's convenient. A feow minutes winna maitter muckle to the bailie bodies."

      There was something in Malcolm's address that pleased Lord Lossie—the mingling of respect and humour, probably—the frankness and composure, perhaps. He was not self conscious enough to be shy, and was so free from design of any sort that he doubted the good will of no one.

      "What's your name?" asked the marquis abruptly.

      "Malcolm MacPhail, my lord."

      "MacPhail? I heard the name this very day! Let me see."

      "My gran'father's the blin' piper, my lord."

      "Yes, yes. Tell him I shall want him at the House. I left my own piper at Ceanglas."

      "I'll fess him wi' me the morn, gien ye like, my lord, for I'll be ower wi' some fine troot or ither, gien I haena the waur luck, the morn's mornin': Mistress Courthope says she'll be aye ready for ane to fry to yer lordship's brakfast. But I'm thinkin' that'll be ower ear' for ye to see him."

      "I'll send for him when I want him. Go on with your brazen serpent there, only mind you don't give her too much supper."

      "Jist look at her ribs, my lord! she winna rive!" was the youth's response; and the marquis was moving off with a smile, when Malcolm called after him.

      "Gien yer lordship likes to see yer ain ferlies, I ken whaur some o' them lie," he said.

      "What do you mean by ferlies?" asked the marquis.

      "Ow! keeriosities, ye ken. For enstance, there's some queer caves alang the cost—twa or three o' them afore ye come to the Scaurnose. They say the water bude till ha' howkit them ance upon a time, an' they maun hae been fu' o' partans, an' lobsters, an' their frien's an' neebours; but they're heigh an' dreigh noo, as the fule said o' his minister, an' naething intill them but foumarts, an' otters, an' sic like."

      "Well, well, my lad, we'll see," said his lordship kindly and turning once more, he resumed his walk.

      "At yer lordship's will," answered Malcolm in a low voice as he lifted his bonnet and again bent to the swivel.

      The next morning, he was rowing slowly along in the bay, when he was startled by the sound of his grandfather's pipes, wafted clear and shrill on a breath of southern wind, from the top of the town. He looked at his watch: it was not yet five o'clock. The expectation of a summons to play at Lossie House, had so excited the old man's brain that he had waked long before his usual time, and Portlossie must wake also. The worst of it was, that he had already, as Malcolm knew from the direction of the sound, almost reached the end of his beat, and must even now be expecting the report of the swivel, until he heard which he would not cease playing, so long as there was a breath in his body. Pulling, therefore, with all his might, Malcolm soon ran his boat ashore, and in another instant the sharp yell of the swivel rang among the rocks of the promontory. He was still standing, lapped in a light reverie as he watched the smoke flying seaward, when a voice, already well known to him said, close at his side:

      "What are you about with that horrid cannon?"

      Malcolm started.

      "Ye garred me loup, my leddy!" he returned with a smile and an obeisance.

      "You told me," the girl went on emphatically, and as she spoke she disengaged her watch from her girdle, "that you fired it at six o'clock. It is not nearly six."

      "Didna ye hear the pipes, my leddy?" he rejoined.

      "Yes, well enough; but a whole regiment of pipes can't make it six o'clock when my watch says ten minutes past five."

      "Eh, sic a braw watch!" exclaimed Malcolm. "What's a' thae bonny white k-nots about the face o' 't?"

      "Pearls," she answered, in a tone that implied pity of his ignorance.

      "Jist look at it aside mine!" he exclaimed in admiration, pulling out his great old turnip.

      "There!" cried the girl; "your own watch says only a quarter past five."

      "Ow, ay! my leddy; I set it by the toon clock 'at hings i' the window o' the Lossie Airms last nicht. But I maun awa' an' luik efter my lines, or atween the deil an' the dogfish my lord'll fare ill."

      "You haven't told me why you fired the gun," she persisted.

      Thus compelled, Malcolm had to explain that the motive lay in his anxiety lest his grandfather should over exert himself, seeing he was subject to severe attacks of asthma.

      "He could stop when he was tired," she objected.

      "Ay, gien his pride wad lat him," answered Malcolm, and turned away again, eager to draw his line.

      "Have you a boat of your own?" asked the lady.

      "Ay; yon's her, doon on the shore yonner. Wad ye like a row? She's fine an' quaiet."

      "Who? The boat?"

      "The sea, my leddy."

      "Is your boat clean?"

      "O' a' thing but fish. But na, it's no fit for sic a bonny goon as that. I winna lat ye gang the day, my leddy; but gien ye like to be here the morn's mornin', I s' be here at this same hoor, an' hae my boat as clean's a Sunday sark."

      "You think more of my gown than of myself," she returned.

      "There's no fear o' yersel', my leddy. Ye're ower weel made to bland (spoil). But wae's me for the goon or (before) it had been an hoor i' the boat the day!—no to mention the fish comin' walopin' ower the gunnel ane efter the ither. But 'deed I maun say good mornin', mem!"

      "By all means. I don't want to keep you a moment from your precious fish."

      Feeling rebuked, without well knowing why, Malcolm accepted the dismissal, and ran to his boat. By the time he had taken his oars, the girl had vanished.

      His line was a short one; but twice the number of fish he wanted were already hanging from the hooks. It was still very early when he reached the harbour. At home he found his grandfather waiting for him, and his breakfast ready.

      It was hard to convince Duncan that he had waked the royal burgh a whole hour too soon. He insisted that, as he had never made such a blunder before, he could not have made it now.

      "It's ta watch 'at 'll pe telling ta lies, Malcolm, my poy," he said thoughtfully. "She was once pefore."

      "But the sun says the same 's the watch, daddy," persisted Malcolm.

      Duncan understood the position of the sun and what it signified, as well as the clearest eyed man in Port Lossie, but he could not afford to yield.

      "It was peing some conspeeracy of ta cursit Cawmills, to make her loss her poor pension," he said. "Put never you mind, Malcolm; I'll pe making up for ta plunder ta morrow mornin'. Ta coot peoples shall haf teir sleeps a whole hour after tey ought to be at teir works."

      CHAPTER IX:

       THE SALMON TROUT

       Table of Contents

      Malcolm walked up through the town with his fish, hoping to part with some of the less desirable of them, and so lighten his basket, before entering the grounds of Lossie House. But he had met with little success, and was now approaching the town gate, as they called it, which closed a short street at right angles to the principal one, when he came upon Mrs Catanach—on her knees, cleaning her doorstep.

      "Weel, Malcolm, what fish hae ye?" she said, without looking up.

      "Hoo kent ye it was me, Mistress Catanach?" asked the lad.

      "Kent it was you!" she repeated. "Gien there be but twa feet at ance in ony street o' Portlossie, I'll tell ye whase heid's abune them, an' my een steekit (closed)."

      "Hoot! ye're a witch, Mistress Catanach!" said Malcolm merrily.

      "That's as may

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