Claud was filled with wonder and awe at the sight of such splendid examples of Glasgow pomp and prosperity, but Maudge speedily rebuked his juvenile admiration.
‘They’re no worth the looking at,’ said she; ‘had ye but seen the last Leddy Kittlestonheugh, your ain muckle respekit grandmother, and her twa sisters, in their hench-hoops, with their fans in their han’s—the three in a row would hae soopit the whole breadth o’ the Trongate—ye would hae seen something. They were nane o’ your new-made leddies, but come o’ a pedigree. Foul would hae been the gait, and drooking the shower, that would hae gart them jook their heads intil the door o’ ony sic thing as a Glasgow bailie—Na; Claudie, my lamb, thou maun lift thy een aboon the trash o’ the town, and ay keep mind that the hills are standing yet that might hae been thy ain; and so may they yet be, an thou can but master the pride o’ back and belly, and seek for something mair solid than the bravery o’ sic a Solomon in all his glory as yon Provost Gorbals.—Heh, sirs, what a kyteful o’ pride’s yon’er! and yet I would be nane surprised the morn to hear that the Nebuchadnezzar was a’ gane to pigs and whistles, and driven out wi’ the divors bill to the barren pastures of bankruptcy.’
CHAPTER II
After taking a stroll round the brow of the hill, Provost Gorbals and his lady approached the spot where Maudge and Claud were sitting. As they drew near, the old woman rose, for she recognized in Mrs. Gorbals one of the former visitors at Kittlestonheugh. The figure of Maudge herself was so remarkable, that, seen once, it was seldom forgotten, and the worthy lady, almost at the same instant, said to the Provost,—
‘Eh! Megsty, gudeman, if I dinna think yon’s auld Kittlestonheugh’s crookit bairnswoman. I won’er what’s come o’ the Laird, poor bodie, sin’ he was rookit by the Darien. Eh! what an alteration it was to Mrs. Walkinshaw, his gudedochter. She was a bonny bodie; but frae the time o’ the sore news, she croynt awa, and her life gied out like the snuff o’ a can’le. Hey, Magdalene Dobbie, come hither to me, I’m wanting to speak to thee.’
Maudge, at this shrill obstreperous summons, leading Claud by the hand, went forward to the lady, who immediately said,—
‘Ist t’ou ay in Kittlestonheugh’s service, and what’s come o’ him, sin’ his lan’ was roupit?’
Maudge replied respectfully, and with the tear in her eye, that the Laird was dead.
‘Dead!’ exclaimed Mrs. Gorbals, ‘that’s very extraordinare. I doubt he was ill off at his latter end. Whar did he die, poor man?’
‘We were obligated,’ said Maudge, somewhat comforted by the compassionate accent of the lady, ‘to come intil Glasgow, where he fell into a decay o’ nature.’ And she added, with a sigh that was almost a sob, ‘’Deed, it’s vera true, he died in a sare straitened circumstance, and left this helpless laddie upon my hands.’