Before this, Blue Peter had become aware that some one was near him, but, intent on the words of his brother fisher of the old time, had half-unconsciously put off looking up to see who was behind him. When now he did so, and saw Malcolm, he rose and touched his bonnet.
“It was jist i’ my heid, my lord,” he said, without any preamble, “sic a kin’ o’ a h’avenly Jacobin as this same Jacobus was! He’s sic a leveller as was feow afore ’im, I doobt, wi’ his gowd-ringt man, an’ his cloot-cled brither! He pat me in twa min’s, my lord, whan I got up, whether I wad touch my bonnet to yer lordship or no.”
Malcolm laughed with hearty appreciation.
“When I am king of Lossie,” he said, “be it known to all whom it may concern, that it is and shall be the right of Blue Peter, and all his descendants, to the end of time, to stand with bonneted heads in the presence of Lord or—no, not Lady, Peter—of the house of Lossie.”
“Ay, but ye see, Ma’colm,” said Peter, forgetting his address, and his eye twinkling in the humour of the moment, “it’s no by your leave, or ony man’s leave; it’s the richt o’ the thing; an’ that I maun think aboot, an’ see whether I be at leeberty to ca’ ye my lord or no.”
“Meantime, don’t do it,” said Malcolm, “lest you should have to change afterwards. You might find it difficult.”
“Ye’re cheengt a’ready,” said Blue Peter, looking up at him sharply. “I ne’er h’ard ye speyk like that afore.”
“Make nothing of it,” returned Malcolm. “I am only airing my English on you; I have made up my mind to learn to speak in London as London people do, and so, even to you, in the meantime only, I am going to speak as good English as I can.—It’s nothing between you and me, Peter and you must not mind it,” he added, seeing a slight cloud come over the fisherman’s face.
Blue Peter turned away with a sigh. The sounds of English speech from the lips of Malcolm addressed to himself, seemed vaguely to indicate the opening of a gulf between them, destined ere long to widen to the whole social width between a fisherman and a marquis, swallowing up in it not only all old memories, but all later friendship and confidence. A shadow of bitterness crossed the poor fellow’s mind, and in it the seed of distrust began to strike root, and all because a newer had been substituted for an older form of the same speech and language. Truly man’s heart is a delicate piece of work, and takes gentle handling or hurt. But that the pain was not all of innocence is revealed in the strange fact, afterwards disclosed by the repentant Peter himself, that, in that same moment, what had just passed his mouth as a joke, put on an important, serious look, and appeared to involve a matter of doubtful duty: was it really right of one man to say my lord to another? Thus the fisherman, and not the marquis, was the first to sin against the other because of altered fortune. Distrust awoke pride in the heart of Blue Peter, and he erred in the lack of the charity that thinketh no evil.
But the lack and the doubt made little show as yet. The two men rowed in the dinghy down the river to the Aberdeen wharf to make arrangements about Kelpie, whose arrival Malcolm expected the following Monday, then dined together, and after that had a long row up the river.