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 ha’e biggit a harbour 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 do sae lang ’s ye hing on aboot a stable, fu’ o’ fower-fittet animals wantin’ sense—an’ some twa fittet ’at has less.”
“I doobt ye’re richt there, mem; and gien I cud but tak puir Kelpie awa’ wi’ me——”
“Hoots! I’m affrontit wi ye. Kelpie—quo he! Preserve ’s a’! The laad ’ill lat his ain sister gang, an’ bide at hame wi’ a mere!”
Malcolm held his peace.