Part 8 (1/2)
”None o' that, James Moore.--David, what d'ye say?”
David looked up into his protector's face.
”Yo'd best go wi' your feyther, lad,” said the Master at last, thickly.
The boy hesitated, and clung tighter to the s.h.i.+elding arm; then he walked slowly over to his father.
A bitter smile spread over the little man's face as he marked this new test of the boy's obedience to the other.
”To obey his frien' he foregoes the pleasure o' disobeyin' his father,”
he muttered. ”n.o.ble!” Then he turned homeward, and the boy followed in his footsteps.
James Moore and the gray dog stood looking after them.
”I know yo'll not pay off yer spite agin me on the lad's head, M'Adam,”
he called, almost appealingly.
”I'll do ma duty, thank ye, James Moore, wi'oot respect o' persons,” the little man cried back, never turning.
Father and son walked away, one behind the other, like a man and his dog, and there was no word said between them. Across the Stony Bottom, Red Wull, scowling with bared teeth at David, joined them. Together the three went up the bill to the Grange.
In the kitchen M'Adam turned.
”Noo, I'm gaein' to gie ye the gran'est thras.h.i.+n' ye iver dreamed of.
Tak' aff yer coat!”
The boy obeyed, and stood up in his thin s.h.i.+rt, his face white and set as a statue's. Red Wull seated himself on his haunches close by, his ears p.r.i.c.ked, licking his lips, all attention.
The little man suppled the great ash-plant in his hands and raised it.
But the expression on the boy's face arrested his arm.
”Say ye're sorry and I'll let yer aff easy.”
”I'll not.”
”One mair chance--yer last! Say yer 'shamed o' yerself'!”
”I'm not.”
The little man brandished his cruel, white weapon, and Red Wull s.h.i.+fted a little to obtain a better view.
”Git on wi' it,” ordered David angrily.
The little man raised the stick again and--threw it into the farthest corner of the room.
It fell with a rattle on the floor, and M'Adam turned away.
”Ye're the pitifulest son iver a man had,” he cried brokenly. ”Gin a man's son dinna haud to him, wha can he expect to?--no one. Ye're ondootiful, ye're disrespectfu', ye're maist ilka thing ye shouldna be; there's but ae thing I thocht ye were not--a coward. And as to that, ye've no the pluck to say ye're sorry when, G.o.d knows, ye might be. I canna thrash ye this day. But ye shall gae nae mair to school. I send ye there to learn. Ye'll not learn--ye've learnt naethin' except disobedience to me--ye shall stop at hame and work.”