Gin yer mother had lived, I wad
hae had mair houp, I confess, for she was a braw leddy and a bonny,
and that sweet-tongued! She cud hae wiled a maukin frae its lair
wi' her bonnie Hielan' speech. I never likit to hear nane o' them
speyk the Erse (Irish, that is, Gaelic), it was aye sae gloggie and
baneless; and I cudna unnerstan' ae word o' 't. Nae mair cud yer
father--hoot! yer gran'father, I mean--though his father cud speyk
it weel. But to hear yer mother--mamma, as ye used to ca' her aye,
efter the new fashion--to hear her speyk English, that was sweet to
the ear; for the braid Scotch she kent as little o' as I do o' the
Erse. It was hert's care aboot him that shortent her days. And a'
that'll be laid upo' him. He'll hae 't a' to beir an' accoont for.
Och hone! Och hone! Eh! Robert, my man, be a guid lad, an' serve
the Lord wi' a' yer hert, an' sowl, an' stren'th, an' min'; for gin
ye gang wrang, yer ain father 'll hae to beir naebody kens hoo
muckle o' the wyte o' 't, for he's dune naething to bring ye up i'
the way ye suld gang, an' haud ye oot o' the ill gait. For the sake
o' yer puir father, haud ye to the richt road. It may spare him a
pang or twa i' the ill place. Eh, gin the Lord wad only tak me, and
lat him gang!'
Involuntarily and unconsciously the mother's love was adopting the
hope which she had denounced in her grandson. And Robert saw it,
but he was never the man when I knew him to push a victory.
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