duin', as ye ken, mem. To mysel' I was never onything but a fisherman born. I confess, whiles, whan we wad be lyin' i' the lee o' the nets, tethered to them like, wi' the win' blawin' strong an' steady, I hae thoucht wi' mysel' hoo 'at I kennt naething aboot my father, an' what gien it sud turn oot 'at I was the son o' somebody — what wad I du wi' my siller?"
"An' what thoucht ye ye wad du, laddie?" asked Miss Horn gently.
"What but bigg a harbor at Scaurnose for the puir fisher-fowk 'at was like my ain flesh an' blude?"
"Weel," rejoined Miss Horn eagerly, "div ye no luik upo' that as 'a voo to the Almichty — a voo 'at ye're bun' to pay — noo 'at ye hae yer wuss? An' it's no merely 'at ye hae the means, but there's no anither that has the richt; for they're yer ain fowk, 'at ye gaither rent frae, an' 'at 's been for mony a generation sattlet upo' yer lan' — though for the maitter o' the lan' they hae had little mair o' that than the birds o' the rock hae ohn feued — an' them honest fowk wi' wives an' sowls o' their ain! Hoo upo' airth are ye to du yer duty by them, an' render yer accoont at the last, gien ye dinna tak till ye yer pooer an' reign? Ilk man 'at 's in ony sense a king o' men, he's bun' to reign ower them in that sense. I ken little aboot things mysel', an' I hae no feelin's to guide me, but I hae a wheen cowmon sense, an' that maun jist stan' for the lave."
A silence followed.
"What for speak na ye, Malcolm?" said Miss Horn at length.
"I was jist tryin'," he answered, "to min' upon a twa lines 'at I cam' upo' the ither day in a buik 'at Maister Graham gied me afore he gaed awa', 'cause I reckon he kent them a' by hert. They say jist siclike's ye been sayin', mem, gien I cud but min' upo' them. They're aboot a man 'at aye does the richt gait — made by ane they ca' Wordsworth."
"I ken naething aboot him," said Miss Horn with emphasized indifference.
"An' I ken but little: I s' ken mair or lang, though. This is hoo the piece begins: —
Who is the happy warrior? Who is he
That every man in arms should wish to be?
It is the generous spirit, who, when brought
Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought
Upon the plan that pleased his childish thought.
There! that's what ye wad hae o' me, mem."
"Hear till him!" cried Miss Horn. "The man's i' the richt, though naebody never h'ard o' 'im. Haud ye by that, Ma'colm, an' dinna ye rist till ye hae biggit a herbor to the men an' women o' Scaurnose. Wha kens hoo mony may gang to the boddom afore it be dune, jist for the want o' 't?"
"The fundation maun be laid in richteousness, though, mem, else what gien 't war to save lives better lost?"
"That belangs to the Michty," said Miss Horn.
"Ay, but the layin' o' the fundation belangs to me, an' I'll no du 't till I can du 't ohn ruint my sister."
"Weel, there's ae thing clear: ye'll never ken what to du sae lang's ye hing on aboot a stable fu' o' fower-fitted animals wantin' sense, an' some twa-fittit 'at has less."
"I doobt ye're richt there, mem; an' den I cud but tak puir Kelpie awa' wi' me ——"
"Hoots! I'm affrontit wi' ye. Kelpie, quo he! Preserve 's a'! The laad 'll lat his ain sister gang an' bide at hame wi' a mere!"
Malcolm held his peace. "Ay, I'm thinkin' I maun gang," he said at last.
"Whaur till, than?" asked Miss Horn.
"Ow! to Lon'on — whaur ither?"
"An' what'll your lordship du there?"
"Dinna say lordship to me, mem, or I'll think ye're jeerin' at me. What wad the caterpillar say," he added with a laugh, "gien ye ca'd her my leddy Psyche?" Malcolm of course pronounced the Greek word in Scotch fashion.
"I ken naething aboot yer Suchies or yer Sukies," rejoined Miss Horn. "I ken 'at ye're bun' to be a lord, an' no a stable-man, an' I s' no lat ye rist till ye up an' say, What neist?"
"It's what I hae been sayin' for the last three month," said Malcolm.
"Ay, I daur say! but ye hae been sayin' 't upo' the braid o' yer back, an' I wad hae ye up an' sayin' 't."
"Gien I but kent what to du!" said Malcolm for the thousandth time.
"Ye can at least gang whaur ye hae a chance o' learnin'," returned his friend. "Come an' tak yer supper wi' me the nicht — a rizzart haddie an' an egg — an' I'll tell ye mair aboot yer mither."
But Malcolm avoided a promise, lest it should interfere with what he might find best to do.
