“There’s sense in that,” Michael agreed, with a hard, wheezy laugh. “Come to think of it, there’s a good deal of sense. I never thought of it in that way.”
“I’ve left a hare in your porch, against the time you’re needing a sturdy meal.”
“It’ll have to hang for a week or more before it’s ripe, but thank you all the same,” said Michael, wistfully. “I own that the thought of it gets me back to this side o’ things again. You jug a hare, if it’s to be treated right, and run a pint of staunch port wine into the stour of it, and thank the God who made you for the dish.”
“So you needn’t make your will just yet?”
“Ah, but I must, though I’m feeling stronger every minute since you came. It’s this way, Master. I never wedded, as you know—thanks be for the escapement. All the kin I have is a nephew that’s gone oversea, and a niece that’s pretending to be a lady in London town. If I knew which I hated most, I’d will all I have to t’ other.”
“Then leave it over, Michael, till you’ve got your strength back.”
“Maybe I might. But I’ve one thing to say to you, Hardcastle of Logie. They put a token on my gate last night, because I was tenant to you.”
“That carries to us all,” said the Master, hard and wary on the sudden.
“Have you thought what it means?”
“Yes. I’m cold when I think of it—for myself, but more for you of Logie-side.”