“The trowth’s the trowth,” resumed Miss Horn, “neither mair nor less.”
“Ay,” responded Malcolm; “but there’s a richt an’ a wrang time for the tellin’ o’ ’t. It’s no as gien I had had han’ or tongue in ony foregane lee. It was naething o’ my duin’, as ye ken, mem. To mysel’, I was never onything but a fisherman born. I confess ’at whiles, when we wad be lyin’ i’ the lee o’ the nets, tethered to them like, wi’ the win’ blawin’ strong an’ steady, I ha’e thocht wi’ mysel’ ’at I kent naething aboot my father, an’ what gien it sud turn oot ’at I was the son o’ somebody—what wad I du wi’ my siller?”
“An’ what thoucht ye ye wad du, laddie?” asked Miss Horn gently.
“What but bigg a harbour at Scaurnose for the puir fisher-fowk ’at was like my ain flesh and blude!”
“Weel,” rejoined Miss Horn eagerly, “div ye no look upo’ that as a voo to the Almichty—a voo ’at ye’re bun’ to pay, noo ’at ye ha’e yer wuss? An’ it’s no merely ’at ye ha’e the means, but there’s no anither that has the richt; for they’re yer ain fowk, ’at ye gaither rent frae, an ’at’s been for mony a generation sattlet upo’ yer lan’—though for the maitter o’ the lan’, they ha’e had little mair o’ that than the birds o’ the rock ha’e ohn feued—an’ them honest fowks wi’ wives an’ sowls o’ their ain! Hoo upo’ airth are ye to du yer duty by them, an’ render yer accoont at the last, gien ye dinna tak till ye yer pooer an’ reign? Ilk man ’at’s in ony sense a king o’ men is bun’ to reign ower them in that sense. I ken little aboot things mysel’, an’ I ha’e no feelin’s to guide me, but I ha’e a wheen cowmon sense, an’ that maun jist stan’ for the lave.”
A silence followed.
“What for speak na ye, Ma’colm?” said Miss Horn, at length.
“I was jist tryin’,” he answered, “to min’ upon a twa lines ’at I cam upo’ the ither day in a buik ’at Maister Graham gied me afore he gaed awa’—’cause I reckon he kent them a’ by hert. They say jist sic like ’s ye been sayin’, mem—gien I cud but min’ upo’ them. They’re aboot a man ’at aye does the richt gait—made by ane they ca’ Wordsworth.”
“I ken naething aboot him,” said Miss Horn, with emphasized indifference.
“An’ I ken but little: I s’ ken mair or lang though. This is hoo the piece begins:—