They put up a great screen inside the
door, and there the lan'less laird lay like a lord.
CHAPTER XXI.
SHARGAR ASPIRES.
Robert's heart was dreary when he got on the box-seat of the
mail-coach at Rothieden--it was yet drearier when he got down at The
Royal Hotel in the street of Ben Accord--and it was dreariest of all
when he turned his back on Ericson's, and entered his own room at
Mrs. Fyvie's.
Shargar had met him at the coach. Robert had scarcely a word to say
to him. And Shargar felt as dreary as Robert when he saw him sit
down, and lay his head on the table without a word.
'What's the maitter wi' ye, Robert?' he faltered out at last. 'Gin
ye dinna speyk to me, I'll cut my throat. I will, faith!'
'Haud yer tongue wi' yer nonsense, Shargar. Mr. Ericson's deein'.'
'O lord!' said Shargar, and said nothing more for the space of ten
minutes.
Then he spoke again--slowly and sententiously.
'He hadna you to tak care o' him, Robert. Whaur is he?'
'At The Boar's Heid.'
'That's weel. He'll be luikit efter there.'
'A body wad like to hae their ain han' in 't, Shargar.'
'Ay. I wiss we had him here again.'
The ice of trouble thus broken, the stream of talk flowed more
freely.
'Hoo are ye gettin' on at the schule, man?' asked Robert.
'Nae that ill,' answered Shargar. 'I was at the heid o' my class
yesterday for five meenits.'
'An' hoo did ye like it?'
'Man, it was fine.
Pages:
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475