“Na, nane at ever I hard. But I’ll
tell ye what I hae hard: I hae hard the flails
gaein’ thud, thud, abune my heid.”
“Hoot toot, Phemy!” said Malcolm; “we’re
a guid mile an’ a half frae the nearest ferm
toon, an’ that I reckon, ’ll be the Hoose
ferm.”
“I canna help that,” persisted Phemy.
“Gien ’t wasna the flails, whiles ane,
an’ whiles twa, I dinna ken what it cud hae been.
Hoo far it was I canna say, for it’s ill measurin’
i’ the dark, or wi’ naething but a bowat
(lantern) i’ yer han’; but gien ye ca’d
it mair, I wadna won’er.”
“It’s a michty howkin!” said Malcolm;
“but for a’ that it wadna haud ye frae
the grip o’ thae scoonrels: wharever ye
ran they cud rin efter ye.”
“I think we cud sort them,” said Phemy.
“There’s ae place, a guid bit farrer in,
whaur the rufe comes doon to the flure, leavin’
jist ae sma’ hole to creep throu’:
it wad be fine to hae a gey muckle stane handy, jist
to row (roll) athort it, an’ gar’t luik
as gien ‘t was the en’ o’ a’thing.
But the hole’s sae sma’ at the laird has
ill gettin’ his puir hack throu’ ’t.”
“I couldna help won’erin’ hoo he
wan throu’ at the tap there,” said Malcolm.
At this the laird laughed almost merrily, and rising,
took Malcolm by the hand and led him to the spot,
where he made him feel a rough groove in the wall
of the rocky strait: into this hollow he laid
his hump, and so slid sideways through.
Malcolm squeezed himself through after him, saying,—
“Noo ye’re oot, laird, hadna ye better
come wi’ me hame to Miss Horn’s, whaur
ye wad be as safe’s gien ye war in h’aven
itsel’?”
“Na, I canna gang to Miss Horn’s,”
he replied.
“What for no, laird?”
Pulling Malcolm down towards him, the laird whispered
in his ear,
“’Cause she’s fleyt at my back.”
A moment or two passed ere Malcolm could think of
a reply both true and fitting. When at length
he spoke again there was no answer, and he knew that
he was alone.
He left the cave and set out for the Seaton; but,
unable to feel at peace about his friends, resolved,
on the way, to return after seeing his grandfather,
and spend the night in the outer cave.
He had not been gone many minutes, when the laird
passed once more through the strait, and stood a moment
waiting for Phemy; she had persuaded him to go home
to her father’s for the night.
But the next instant he darted back, with trembling
hands, caught hold of Phemy, who was following him
with the lantern, and stammered in her ear,—
“There’s somebody there! I dinna
ken whaur they come frae.”
Phemy went to the front of the passage and listened,
but could hear nothing, and returned.
“Bide ye whaur ye are, laird,” she said;
“I’ll gang doon, an’ gien I hear
or see naething, I’ll come back for ye.”
