'Trust me for that, Moray,' returned Dr. Anderson. 'I owe you a good
deal more than that. My brains might have been out by this time.'
'The Lord be praised!' said Shargar, making about his first
profession of Christianity. 'Robert 'ill think something o' me noo.'
During this conversation the coachman sat expecting some one to
appear from the shop, and longing to pitch into the 'camstary'
horse, but not daring to lift his whip beyond its natural angle. No
one came. All at once Shargar knew where he was.
'Guid be here! we're at Donal's door! Guid day to ye, doctor; an'
I'm muckle obleeged to ye. Maybe, gin ye war comin' oor gait, the
morn, or the neist day, to see Maister Ericson, ye wad tie up my
airm, for it gangs wallopin' aboot, an' that canna be guid for the
stickin' o' 't thegither again.'
'My poor boy! you don't think I'm going to leave you here, do you?'
said the doctor, proceeding to open the carriage-door.
'But whaur's the hamper?' said Shargar, looking about him in dismay.
'The coachman has got it on the box,' answered the doctor.
'Eh! that'll never do. Gin thae rampaugin' brutes war to tak a
start again, what wad come o' the bit basket? I maun get it doon
direckly.'
'Sit still. I will get it down, and deliver it myself.' As he
spoke the doctor got out.
'Tak care o' 't, sir; tak care o' 't. William Walker said there was
a jar o' drained hinney i' the basket; an' the bairns wad miss 't
sair gin 't war spult.
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