“What is it?” asked Malcolm, in alarm.
“Ye ha’e been ower lang awa’, I doobt,” answered the man, “to ken hoo the factor——But, Lord save ye! haud yer tongue,” he interjected, looking fearfully around him. “Gien he kenned ’at I said sic a thing, he wad turn me oot o’ hoose an’ ha’.”
“You’ve said nothing yet,” rejoined Malcolm.
“I said factor, an’ that same’s ’maist eneuch, for he’s like a roarin’ lion an’ a ragin’ bear amang the people, an’ that sin’ ever ye gaed. Bow-o’-meal said i’ the meetin’ the ither nicht ’at he bude to be the verra man, the wickit ruler propheseed o’ sae lang sin’ syne i’ the beuk o’ the Proverbs. Eh! it’s an awfu’ thing to be foreordeent to oonrichteousness!”
“But you haven’t told me what is the matter at Scaurnose,” said Malcolm impatiently.
“Ow, it’s jist this—at this same ’s midsimmer-day, an’ Blew Peter, honest fallow! he’s been for the last three month un’er nottice frae the factor to quit. An’ sae, ye see,——”
“To quit!” exclaimed Malcolm. “Sic a thing was never h’ard tell o’!”
“Haith! it’s h’ard tell o’ noo,” returned the gatekeeper. “Quittin’ ’s as plenty as quicken (couch-grass). ’Deed there’s maist naething ither h’ard tell o’ bit quittin’; for the full half o’ Scaurnose is un’er like nottice for Michaelmas, an’ the Lord kens what it’ll a’ en’ in!”
“But what’s it for? Blue Peter’s no the man to misbehave himsel’.”
“Weel, ye ken mair yersel’ nor ony ither as to the warst fau’t there is to lay till ’s chairge; for they say—that is, some say, it’s a’ yer ain wyte, Ma’colm.”