"Man, Harry," said he, "d'ye smell what I smell?"
And I sniffed too. Some pleasant odor came stealing up the stairs frae the kitchen. I leaped up.
"'Tis hare, Mac!" I cried. "Up wi' ye! Wad ye be late for the breakfast that came nigh to getting us shot?"
CHAPTER VIII
Could go on and on wi' tales of yon good days wi' Mac. We'd our times when we were no sae friendly, but they never lasted overnicht. There was much philosophy in Mac. He was a kindly man, for a' his quick temper; I never knew a kinder. And he taught me much that's been usefu' to me. He taught me to look for the gude in a' I saw and came in contact wi'. There's a bricht side to almost a' we meet, I've come to ken.
It was a strange thing, the way Mac drew comic things to himsel'. It seemed on our Galloway tour, in particular, that a' the funny, sidesplitting happenings saved themselves up till he was aboot to help to mak' them merrier. I was the comedian; he was the serious artist, the great violinist. But ye'd never ha' thocht our work was divided sae had ye been wi' us.
It was to me that fell one o' the few heart-rending episodes o' the whole tour. Again it's the story of a man who thocht the world owed him a living, and that his mission was but to collect it. Why it is that men like that never see that it' not the world that pays them, but puir individuals whom they leave worse off for knowing them, and trusting them, and seeking to help them?
I mind it was at Gatehouse-of-Fleet in Kircudbrightshire that, for once in a way, for some reason I do not bring to mind, Mac and I were separated for a nicht. I found a lodging for the night wi' an aged couple who had a wee cottage all covered wi' ivy, no sae far from the Solway Firth. I was glad o' that; I've aye loved the water.
It was nae mair than four o'clock o' the afternoon when I reached the cottage and found my landlady and her white-haired auld husband waitin' to greet me. They made me as welcome as though I'd been their ain son; ye'd ne'er ha' thocht they were just lettin' me a bit room and gie'n me bit and sup for siller. 'Deed, an' that's what I like fine about the Scots folk. They're a' full o' kindness o' that sort. There's something hamely aboot a Scots hotel ye'll no find south o' the border, and, as for a lodging, why there's nowt to compare wi' Scotland for that. Ye feel ye're ane o' the family so soon as ye set doon yer traps and settle doon for a crack wi' the gude woman o' the hoose.
This was a fine, quiet, pawky pair I found at Gatehouse-of-Fleet. I liked them fine frae the first, and it was a delight to think of them as a typical old Scottish couple, spending the twilight years of their lives at hame and in peace. They micht be alane, I thocht, but wi' loving sons and daughters supporting them and caring for them, even though their affairs called them to widely scattered places.