Aggie had returned to her seat, and he was
talking with her about Euclid, when she began again; and this time
her voice revealed that she was quite in earnest.
"Ye're weel nigh a man noo, Cosmo," she said. "A body may daur
speyk to ye aboot things a body wadna be wullin' to say till a
bairn for fear o' frichtin' o' 'im mair nor the bit hert o' 'm cud
stan'. Whan a lad can warstle wi' a pair o' bills, an' get the
upper han' o' them, an' gar them du his biddin', he wadna need to
tak fricht at--" There she paused.
This preamble was enough in itself--not exactly to bring Cosmo's
heart into his mouth, but to send a little more of his blood from
his brain to his heart than was altogether welcome there. His
imagination, however, was more eager than apprehensive, and his
desire to hear far greater than his dread of the possible
disclosure. Neither would he have turned his back on any terror,
though he knew well enough what fear was. He looked at Aggie as
much as to say, "What can be coming?" and she stared at him in turn
with dilated pupils, as if something dreadful were about to be
evoked by the threatened narrative. Neither spoke a word, but their
souls got into their ears, and there sat listening. The hearing was
likely to be frightful when so prefaced by Grannie.
"There's no guid ever cam' o' ca'in' things oot o' their ain
names," she began, "an" it's my min' 'at gien ever ae man was a
willain, an' gien ever ae man had rizzon no to lie quaiet whan he
was doon, that man was your father's uncle--his gran' uncle, that
is, the auld captain, as we ca'd him.
Pages:
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129