Malcolm

Malcolm

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Malcolm, by George MacDonald #27
in our series by George MacDonald
Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing
this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.
This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project
Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the
header without written permission.
Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the
eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is
important information about your specific rights and restrictions in how
the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a
donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.
**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since
1971**
*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of
Volunteers!*****
Title: Malcolm
Author: George MacDonald
Release Date: December, 2004 [EBook #7127] [Yes, we are more than
one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on March 13,
2003]
Edition: 10

Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MALCOLM
***

Produced by Martin Robb

MALCOLM by George MacDonald

CHAPTER I
: MISS HORN
"Na, na; I hae nae feelin's, I'm thankfu' to say. I never kent ony guid
come o' them. They're a terrible sicht i' the gait."
"Naebody ever thoucht o' layin' 't to yer chairge, mem."
"'Deed, I aye had eneuch adu to du the thing I had to du, no to say the
thing 'at naebody wad du but mysel'. I hae had nae leisur' for feelin's an'
that," insisted Miss Horn.
But here a heavy step descending the stair just outside the room
attracted her attention, and checking the flow of her speech perforce,
with three ungainly strides she reached the landing.
"Watty Witherspail! Watty!" she called after the footsteps down the
stair.
"Yes, mem," answered a gruff voice from below.
"Watty, whan ye fess the bit boxie, jist pit a hemmer an' a puckle nails
i' your pooch to men' the hen hoose door. The tane maun be atten't till
as weel's the tither."
"The bit boxie" was the coffin of her third cousin Griselda Campbell,
whose body lay on the room on her left hand as she called down the
stair. Into that on her right Miss Horn now re-entered, to rejoin Mrs
Mellis, the wife of the principal draper in the town, who had called
ostensibly to condole with her, but really to see the corpse.
"Aih! she was taen yoong!" sighed the visitor, with long drawn tones
and a shake of the head, implying that therein lay ground of complaint,

at which poor mortals dared but hint.
"No that yoong," returned Miss Horn. "She was upo' the edge o' aucht
an' thirty."
"Weel, she had a sair time o' 't."
"No that sair, sae far as I see--an' wha sud ken better? She's had a bien
doon sittin' (sheltered quarters), and sud hae had as lang's I was to the
fore. Na, na; it was nowther sae young nor yet sae sair."
"Aih! but she was a patient cratur wi' a' flesh," persisted Mrs Mellis, as
if she would not willingly be foiled in the attempt to extort for the dead
some syllable of acknowledgment from the lips of her late companion.
"'Deed she was that!--a wheen ower patient wi' some. But that cam' o'
haein mair hert nor brains. She had feelin's gien ye like-- and to spare.
But I never took ower ony o' the stock. It's a pity she hadna the
jeedgment to match, for she never misdoobted onybody eneuch. But I
wat it disna maitter noo, for she's gane whaur it's less wantit. For ane 'at
has the hairmlessness o' the doo 'n this ill wulled warl', there's a feck o'
ten 'at has the wisdom o' the serpent. An' the serpents mak sair wark wi'
the doos--lat alane them 'at flees into the verra mouws o' them."
"Weel, ye're jist richt there," said Mrs Mellis. "An' as ye say, she was
aye some easy to perswaud. I hae nae doubt she believed to the ver' last
he wad come back and mairry her."
"Come back and mairry her! Wha or what div ye mean? I jist tell ye
Mistress Mellis--an' it's weel ye're named--gien ye daur to hint at ae
word o' sic clavers, it's this side o' this door o' mine ye's be less acquant
wi'."
As she spoke, the hawk eyes of Miss Horn glowed on each side of her
hawk nose, which grew more and more hooked as she glared, while her
neck went craning