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CHAPTER VII: BLUE PETER
The door of Blue Peter's cottage was opened by his sister. Not
much at home in the summer, when she carried fish to the country,
she was very little absent in the winter, and as there was but one
room for all uses, except the closet bedroom and the garret at the
top of the ladder, Malcolm, instead of going in, called to his
friend, whom he saw by the fire with his little Phemy upon his
knee, to come out and speak to him.
Blue Peter at once obeyed the summons.
"There's naething wrang, I houp, Ma'colm?" he said, as he closed
the door behind him.
"Maister Graham wad say," returned Malcolm, "naething ever was
wrang but what ye did wrang yersel', or wadna pit richt whan ye
had a chance. I ha'e him nae mair to gang till, Joseph, an' sae I'm
come to you. Come doon by, an' i' the scoug o' a rock, I'll tell
ye a' aboot it."
"Ye wadna ha'e the mistress no ken o' 't?" said his friend. "I
dinna jist like haein' secrets frae her."
"Ye sall jeedge for yersel', man, an' tell her or no just as ye
like. Only she maun haud her tongue, or the black dog 'll ha'e a'
the butter."
"She can haud her tongue like the tae stane o' a grave," said Peter.
As they spoke they reached the cliff that hung over the shattered
shore. It was a clear, cold night. Snow, the remnants of the last
storm, which frost had preserved in every shadowy spot, lay all
about them. The sky was clear, and full of stars, for the wind
that blew cold from the northwest had dispelled the snowy clouds.
The waves rushed into countless gulfs and crannies and straits
on the ruggedest of shores, and the sounds of waves and wind kept
calling like voices from the unseen. By a path, seemingly fitter
for goats than men, they descended halfway to the beach, and under
a great projection of rock stood sheltered from the wind. Then
Malcolm turned to Joseph Mair, commonly called Blue Peter, because
he had been a man of war's man, and laying his hand on his arm
said:
"Blue Peter, did ever I tell ye a lee?"
"No, never," answered Peter. "What gars ye speir sic a thing?"
"Cause I want ye to believe me noo, an' it winna be easy."
"I'll believe onything ye tell me--'at can be believed."
"Weel, I ha'e come to the knowledge 'at my name's no MacPhail: it's
Colonsay. Man, I'm the Markis o' Lossie."
Without a moment's hesitation, without a single stare of unbelief
or even astonishment, Blue Peter pulled off his bonnet, and stood
bareheaded before the companion of his toils.
"Peter!" cried Malcolm, "dinna brak my hert: put on yer bonnet."
"The Lord o' lords be thankit, my lord!" said Blue Peter: "the puir
man has a freen' this day."
Then replacing his bonnet he said--"An' what'll be yer lordship's
wull?"
"First and foremost, Peter, that my best freen', efter my auld
daddy and the schulemaister, 's no to turn again' me 'cause I hed
a markis an' neither piper nor fisher to my father."
"It's no like it, my lord," returned Blue Peter, "whan the first
thing I say is--what wad ye ha'e o' me? Here I am--no speirin'
a queston!"
"Weel, I wad ha'e ye hear the story o' 't a'."
"Say on, my lord," said Peter.
But Malcolm was silent for a few moments.
"I was thinkin', Peter," he said at last, "whether I cud bide to
hear you say my lord to me. Dootless, as it 'll ha'e to come to
that, it wad be better to grow used till 't while we're thegither,
sae 'at whan it maun be, it mayna ha'e the luik o' cheenge until
it, for cheenge is jist the thing I canna bide. I' the meantime,
hooever, we canna gi'e in till 't, 'cause it wad set fowk jaloosin'.
But I wad be obleeged till ye, Peter, gien you wad say my lord
whiles, whan we're oor lanes, for I wad fain grow sae used till't
'at I never kent ye said it, for 'atween you an' me I dinna like
it. An' noo I s' tell ye a' 'at I ken."
When he had ended the tale of what had come to his knowledge, and
how it had come, and paused:
"Gie's a grup o' yer han', my lord," said Blue Peter, "an' may
God haud ye lang in life an' honour to reule ower us. Noo, gien ye
please, what are ye gauin' to du?"
"Tell ye me, Peter, what ye think I oucht to du."
"That wad tak a heap o' thinkin'," returned the fisherman; "but
ae thing seems aboot plain: ye ha'e no richt to lat yer sister
gang exposed to temptations ye cud haud frae her. That's no, as
ye promised, to be kin' till her. I canna believe that's hoo yer
father expeckit o' ye. I ken weel 'at fowk in his poseetion ha'ena
the preevileeges o' the like o' hiz--they ha'ena the win, an' the
watter, an' whiles a lee shore to gar them know they are but men,
an' sen' them rattling at the wicket of h'aven; but still I dinna
think, by yer ain accoont, specially noo 'at I houp he's forgi'en
an' latten in--God grant it!--I div not think he wad like my
leddy Florimel to be oon'er the influences o' sic a ane as that
Leddy Bellair. Ye maun gang till her. Ye ha'e nae ch'ice, my lord."
"But what am I to do, whan I div gang?"
"That's what ye hev to gang an' see."
"An' that's what I ha'e been tellin' mysel', an' what Miss Horn's
been tellin' me tu. But it's a gran' thing to get yer ain thouchts
corroborat. Ye see I'm feart for wrangin' her for pride, and bringin'
her doon to set mysel' up."
"My lord," said Blue Peter, solemnly, "ye ken the life o' puir
fisher fowk; ye ken hoo it micht be lichtened, sae lang as it laists,
an' mony a hole steikit 'at the cauld deith creeps in at the noo:
coont ye them naething, my lord? Coont ye the wull o' Providence,
'at sets ye ower them, naething? What for could the Lord ha'e gie
ye sic an upbringin' as no markis' son ever hed afore ye, or maybe
ever wull ha'e efter ye, gien it bena 'at ye sud tak them in han'
to du yer pairt by them? Gien ye forsak them noo, ye'll be forgettin'
him 'at made them an' you, an' the sea, an' the herrin' to be taen
intil 't. Gien ye forget them, there's nae houp for them, but the
same deith 'ill keep on swallowin' at them upo' sea an' shore."
"Ye speyk the trowth as I ha'e spoken't till mysel', Peter.
Noo, hearken: will ye sail wi' me the nicht for Lon'on toon?" The
fisherman was silent a moment--then answered, "I wull, my lord;
but I maun tell my wife."
"Rin, an' fess her here than, for I'm fleyed at yer sister, honest
wuman, an' little Phemy. It wad blaud a' thing gien I was hurried
to du something afore I kenned what."
"I s' ha'e her oot in a meenute," said Joseph, and scrambled up
the cliff.
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