“Ta poat! ta poat of my chief!” cried the seer. “She is coming like a tream of ta night, put one tat will not tepart with ta morning.”
He spoke as one suppressing a wild joy.
“Wha’ll that be, lucky-deddy (grandfather)?” inquired, in a respectful voice, the woman who had last spoken, while those within hearing hushed each other and stood in silence. And all the time the ghost of the day was creeping round from west to east to put on its resurrection body, and rise new born. It gleamed faint like a cold ashy fire in the north.
“And who will it pe than her own son, Mistress Reekie?” answered the piper, calling her by her husband’s nickname, as was usual, but, as was his sole wont, prefixing the title of respect, where custom would have employed but her Christian name.
“Who’ll should it pe put her own Malcolm?” he went on. “I see his poat come round ta Tead Head. She flits over the water like a pale ghost over Morven. But it’s ta young and ta strong she is pringing home to Tuncan. O m’anam, beannuich!”
Involuntarily all eyes turned towards the point called the Death’s Head, which bounded the bay on the east.
“It’s ower dark to see onything,” said the man on the window sill. “There’s a bit haar (fog) come up.”
“Yes,” said Duncan, “it’ll pe too tark for you who haf cot no eyes only to speak of. Put your’ll wait a few, and you’ll pe seeing as well as herself. Och, her poy! her poy! O m’anam! Ta Lort pe praised! and she’ll tie in peace, for he’ll pe only ta one half of him a Cam’ell, and he’ll pe safed at last, as sure as there’s a heafen to co to and a hell to co from. For ta half tat’s not a Cam’ell must pe ta strong half and it will trag ta other half into heafen— where it will not pe ta welcome, howefer.”
As if to get rid of the unpleasant thought that his Malcolm could not enter heaven without taking half a Campbell with him, he turned from the sea and hurried into the house—but only to catch up his pipes and hasten out again, filling the bag as he went. Arrived once more on the verge of the sand, he stood again facing the north-east, and began to blow a pibroch loud and clear.
Meantime the Partan had joined the same group, and they were talking in a low tone about the piper’s claim to the second sight, for, although all were more or less inclined to put faith in Duncan, there was here no such unquestioning belief in the marvel as would have been found on the west coast in every glen from the Mull of Cantyre to Loch Eribol—when suddenly Meg Partan, almost the only one hitherto remaining in the house, appeared rushing from the close.