Part 24 (2/2)
came to her pedside; and he'll say to her, 'MacDhonuill,' he said, for pein' a tead man he would pe knowing my name,--'MacDhonuill,'
he said, 'what tid you'll pe meaning py turking my posterity?' And she answered and said to him, 'I pray it had peen yourself, you tamned Clenlyon.' And he said to me, 'It 'll pe no coot wis.h.i.+ng tat; it would be toing you no coot to turk me, for I'm a tead man.'-- 'And a tamned man,' says herself, and would haf taken him py ta troat, put she couldn't mofe. 'Well, I'm not so sure of tat,' says he, 'for I 'fe pecked all teir partons.'--'And tid tey gif tem to you, you tog?' says herself.--'Well, I'm not sure,' says he; 'anyhow, I'm not tamned fery much yet.'--'She'll pe much sorry to hear it,' says herself. And she took care aalways to pe calling him some paad name, so tat he shouldn't say she 'll be forgifing him, whatever ta rest of tem might be toing. 'Put what troubles me,' says he, 'it 'll not pe apout myself at aall.'--'Tat 'll pe a wonter,' says her nain sel': 'and what may it pe apout, you cuttroat?'--'It 'll pe apout yourself,' says he. 'Apout herself?'
--'Yes; apout yourself' says he. 'I'm sorry for you--for ta ting tat's to pe tone with him tat killed a man aal pecaase he pore my name, and he wasn't a son of mine at aall! Tere is no pot in h.e.l.l teep enough to put him in!'--'Ten tey must make haste and tig one,' says herself; 'for she 'll pe hangt in a tay or two.'--So she 'll wake up, and beholt it was a tream!”
”An' no sic an ill dream efter a', daddy!” said Malcolm.
”Not an efil tream, my son, when it makes her aalmost wish that she hadn't peen quite killing ta tog! Last night she would haf made a puoy of his skin like any other tog's skin, and totay--no, my son, it wa.s.s a fery efil tream. And to be tolt tat ta creat tefil, Clenlyon herself, was not fery much tamned!--it wa.s.s a fery efil tream, my son.”
”Weel, daddy--maybe ye 'll tak it for ill news, but ye killed naebody.”
”Tid she'll not trive her turk into ta tog?” cried Duncan fiercely.
”Och hone! och hone!--Then she 's ashamed of herself for efer, when she might have tone it. And it 'll hafe to be tone yet!”
He paused a few moments, and then resumed:
”And she'll not pe coing to be hangt?--Maype tat will pe petter, for you wouldn't hafe liket to see your olt cranfather to pe hangt, Malcolm, my son. Not tat she would hafe minted it herself in such a coot caause, Malcolm! Put she tidn't pe fery happy after she tid think she had tone it, for you see he wasn't ta fery man his ownself, and tat must pe counted. But she tid kill something: what was it, Malcolm?”
”Ye sent a gran' dish fleein',” answered Malcolm. ”I s' warran' it cost a poun', to jeedge by the gowd upo' 't.”
”She'll hear a noise of preaking; put she tid stap something soft.”
”Ye stack yer durk intill my lord's mahogany table,” said Malcolm.
”It nott (needed) a guid rug (pull) to haul't oot.”
”Then her arm has not lost aal its strength, Malcolm! I pray ta taple had peen ta rips of Clenlyon!”
”Ye maunna pray nae sic prayers, daddy. Min' upo' what Glenlyon said to ye last nicht. Gien I was you I wadna hae a pot howkit express for mysel'--doon yonner--i' yon place 'at ye dreamed aboot.”
”Well, I'll forgife him a little, Malcolm--not ta one tat's tead, but ta one tat tidn't do it, you know.--Put how will she pe forgifing him for ripping her poor pag? Och hone! och hone!
No more musics for her tying tays, Malcolm! Och hone! och hone! I shall co creeping to ta crafe with no loud noises to defy ta enemy.
Her pipes is tumb for efer and efer. Och hone! och hone!”
The lengthening of his days had restored bitterness to his loss.
”I'll sune set the bag richt, daddy. Or, gien I canna du that, we'll get a new ane. Mony a pibroch 'll come skirlin' oot o' that chanter yet er' a' be dune.”
They were interrupted by the unceremonious entrance of the same footman who had brought the invitation. He carried a magnificent set of ebony pipes, with silver mountings.
”A present from my lord, the marquis,” he said b.u.mptiously, almost rudely, and laid them on the table.
”Dinna lay them there; tak them frae that, or I'll fling them yer poothered wig,” said Malcolm. ”--It's a stan' o' pipes,” he added, ”an' that a gran' ane, daddy.”
”Take tem away!” cried the old man, in a voice too feeble to support the load of indignation it bore. ”She'll pe taking no presents from marquis or tuke tat would pe teceifing old Tuncan, and making him trink with ta cursed Clenlyon. Tell ta marquis he 'll pe sending her cray hairs with sorrow to ta crafe; for she 'll pe tishonoured for efer and henceforth.”
Probably pleased to be the bearer of a message fraught with so much amus.e.m.e.nt, the man departed in silence with the pipes.
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