was alone against a multitude; and what might have happened either to
himself or his dress it would have been difficult to predict, had not an
unexpected defender come in to the rescue. Next to Colin in the
classroom a man of about twice his age had been seated--a man of thirty,
whose gaunt shoulders brushed the boy’s fair locks, and whose mature and
thoughtful head rose strangely over the young heads around. It was he
who strode through the ring and dispersed Colin’s adversaries.
“For shame o’ yourselves,” he said in a deep bass voice, which
contrasted wonderfully with the young falsettos round him. “Leave the
laddie alone; he knows no better. I’ll lick ye a’ for a set of
schoolboys, if you don’t let him be. Here, boy, take off the red rag and
throw it to me,” said Colin’s new champion; but the Campbell blood was
up.
“I’ll no take it off,” cried Colin; “it’s my ain, and I’ll wear it if I
like; and I’ll fell anybody that meddles with me!”
Upon which, as was natural, a wonderful scuffle ensued. Colin never knew
perfectly how he was extricated from this alarming situation; but, when
he came to himself, he was in the streets on his way home, with his new
friend by his side--very stiff, and aching in every limb, with one
sleeve of his gown torn out, and its glory minished by the mud which had
been thrown at it, but still held tightly as he had gathered it round
him at the first affray. When he recovered so far as to hear some other
sound besides his own panting breath, Colin discovered that the gaunt
giant by his side was preaching at him in a leisurely reflective way
from his eminence of six feet two or three. Big Colin of Ramore was but
six feet, and at that altitude two or three inches tell. The stranger
looked gigantic in his lean length as the boy looked up, half wondering,
half-defiant, to hear what he was saying. What he said sounded
wonderfully like preaching, so high up and so composed was the voice
which kept on arguing over Colin’s head, with an indifference to whether
he listened or not, which, in ordinary conversation, is somewhat rare to
see.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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