*CHAPTER XVI*
*ANDREW PATERSON, HILL-MAN*
The shrill crowing of a cock woke me, just as the first rays of the sunwere stealing through the skylight. I lay adrowse, half sleeping, halfawake, listening for the first sound of the house coming to life. Thecock sounded his bugle again. Somewhere a hen cackled, and then all wasstill.
My eyes wandered round the garret. A mouse had stolen out of somecranny and was examining the room. He seemed unaware of my presence,for he sat solemnly in the middle of the floor with his tail curved likea sickle and proceeded to preen himself, till some unwitting movement ofmine startled him and he scampered to his hole.
Slowly the minutes passed, then I heard movements in the kitchen beneathme. I knew that the day might be a difficult one for me, for sometimeduring its course I had to explain to the master of the house how I cameto be disguised in the garb of the minister. My tale was a plain enoughone, and I thought it would not be hard to clear myself of any suspicionof having had a hand in his death; but I could not be sure. Kind thoughmy succourers had been, I knew that they were likely to be distrustfulof one who had once been a trooper. The minister had been their friend,and it was but natural that they should feel his death keenly and be alltoo ready to suspect me of complicity in bringing it about. Idetermined to tell the tale simply, and I trusted that my words wouldcarry conviction. If not, what then? I knew the fanatic spirit withwhich the hill-folk were sometimes charged. Would the master of thehouse, in his wrath, lay hands upon me and wring the life from my body?The evil, uncharitable thought was crushed down. They had shown me suchlove in the hours of my weakness that they were hardly likely tosacrifice me to their suspicions now.
As I pondered, the trap-door was raised, and, bearing my breakfast, themaster of the house entered the garret. "Hoo are ye the day?" he asked.
"Better, I thank you, much better;--I owe my life to you and yours;--Ishall never be able to repay you."
He set the food upon the stool before he answered. "Ye're gey gleg wi'your tongue. Naebody was talkin' aboot payin'. Haud your wheesht, andsup your parritch. I jalouse ye need them. Later on I'll be comin' upfor a crack. There's a wheen things that are no' clear in my min'. Thething lies here: hoo did ye come by the minister's claes and his Bible?"and he looked at me with a steely glance, that, had I not beenguiltless, would have covered me with confusion.
"I am ready," I said, "to tell you the whole story as soon as you areready to listen."
"Weel," he answered, "I'm comin' back sune," and he went to thetrap-door and descended, closing it behind him.
I made a hearty meal and was pleased to discover my strength was comingback to me. When I had finished I must have dropped into a sleep, fromwhich I was wakened by hearing footsteps in the room once more. The manhad returned, and under his arm he was carrying a bundle of heather,while in his hand there was a mass of wool. He knelt beside my bed and,turning up the blankets, said:
"Afore we begin to talk I think I'd better see aboot this leg o' yours."
He undid the bandages, and looking down I saw that beneath them theankle had been carefully padded with wool and heather. I knew now thepurpose of the things he had brought with him, for he stripped off thepad with which the ankle was surrounded and began to make a fresh one.Apparently he had some knowledge of the healing art. He ran his fingersgently over the joint and then bade me try to move the foot. I foundthat movement was difficult, but that though it was painful it did notprovoke such suffering as that which I remembered having experiencedupon the moor.
"It's daein' fine," he said. "It was a bad break, but by and by ye'llbe able to walk again, though I fear ye'll aye be a lamiter. But Jacobhimsel'--a better man than you--hirpled for the maist pairt o' hislife."
As he talked he was binding my foot again, and when he had finished, itfelt most comfortable.
"And noo," he said, "let me hear what ye ha'e to say for yersel'. Thefacts are black against ye. We fand you on the moor in the meenister'sclaes: ye had the guid man's Bible in your pocket: when last he was seenyou were in his company: and nocht has been heard o' him frae that dayto this. What say ye?" and he looked at me piercingly.
Without more ado I told him how the brave old saint had given his lifethat mine might be saved, and how I had buried his body in the silenceof the hills, taking his clothes to disguise myself and bringing awayhis Bible as a precious possession.
As I talked I watched the changing emotions chase each other across hisface. At first his eyes were watchful with suspicion, but as Icontinued he seemed thrilled with a tensity of expectation, and when Itold him how the end had come with the rattle of muskets I saw hisstrong, gnarled hands clench, and, through his tightened lips, hemuttered, "The black deevils," and then the tears stole down hisweather-beaten cheeks.
When I had finished there was a silence which at last he broke:
"A man o' God, a saint if ever there was ane. We'll miss him sairly hereI'm thinkin', but they will be glad to ha'e him on the other side."Then he rose from the stool and gripping my right hand, crushed it inhis own. "I believe you, my lad, I believe you, and if Alexander Maincounted you worthy to die for, Andrew Paterson o' Daldowie may count youworthy o' a share of his kail and saut. I maun gang and tell the wife;her and Mary are anxious to ken the truth": and he made for thetrap-door and began to go down. But just before his head disappeared heturned and called: "Maybe I'll come back the day to see ye again, but ifI dinna', the wife'll be up to look after ye, and if I'm spared I'll beup masel' the morn. This is nae day to talk aboot the dambrod. I'llspeir ye aboot it some ither time."
Flower o' the Heather: A Story of the Killing Times Page 16
