It's a gran' coal."
"Gran' it's no'," said Davie shortly, who was a fierce radical in
politics, and who strove to preserve his sense of independence of all
semblance of authority by cultivating a habit of disagreement. "Gran'
it's no'," he repeated, "but it's the best the Farquhars hae, though
that's no' saying much. It's no' what I call cannel."
"Well, well, Davie, it blazes finely at any rate," said Mr. Rae,
determined to be cheerful, and rubbing his hands before the blazing
coal.
"Ay, it bleezes," grumbled Davie, "when it's no' smootherin'."
"Come then, Davie, that will do. Clear out," said Mr. Rae to the old
servant, who was cleaning up the hearth with great diligence and care.
But Davie was not to be hurried. He had his regular routine in
fire-mending, from which no power could move him. "Ay, Sir," he
muttered, brushing away with his feather besom. "I'll clear oot when I
clear up. When a thing's no' dune richt it's no dune ava."
"True, Davie, true enough; that's a noble sentiment. But will that no'
do now?" Mr. Rae knew himself to be helpless in Davie's hands, and he
knew also that nothing short of violence would hasten Davie from his
"usual."
"Ay, that'll dae, because it's richt dune. But that's no' what I call
cannel," grumbled Davie, glowering fiercely at the burning coal, as if
meditating a fresh attack.
Pages:
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66