Inchbracken: The Story of a Fama ClamosaCleland, Robert
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Inchbracken: The Story of a Fama Clamosa
Cleland, Robert
Historical fiction; Scotland -- Fiction
The two old women partook of the cheer provided; after that they took
snuff together, and then they settled themselves in the sunshine for
their 'crack.' Elspeth's walking powers were not what they had been,
and she had not been present at the ceremonies of the day before, so
there was much for Tibbie to tell. Both of them would have been
classed, I fear, as 'of the world,' by the more devout. Kirks and
preachings were not by any means to them the most important matters in
life, still they were the news of the day, and, as such, interesting.
'An' what said our ain young minister himsel', Tibbie?' inquired
Elspeth at last, after all the fine things said by the others had been
duly discussed.
'Hoot, woman! He wasna there ava. Did ye no ken he was lyin'? an' rael
ill. I winder Jean didna tell ye that! For it was Mistress Sangster,
the folk's tellin', 'at cam near giein' him his death. Ye see they
gaed stravaigin' ower the hills, an' what suld come ower my leddy but
she maun coup in a burn! Up comes the minister to pu' her out, and a
sair job he'd hae fand it at the best, for she's a muckle hefty wife;
but the daft auld rinketer, whan ance she'd gotten a grip o' him, she
gied a screech an' a fling, an' pu'ed him in ower aside her, an' baith
gat a sair drookin', an' a wamefu' o' cauld water. Aweel! Stephen
Boague's wife, she dried the claes o' my leddy, an' she's nae waur;
but the puir minister beut to gang hame as he was--a' drouket--an'
he's gotten a sair host 'at's like to be the death o' him.'
'Puir chield! The cauld water he drank was ower strong for him. I
ne'er thocht muckle o' that for a drink mysel'. It wants whusky peuten
til't, to gar't lie licht on the staumick. But if a' folk says be
true, it's het water he's gotten amang noo! honest man. Think ye he'll
thole that better nor the cauld?' with a sidelong glance which was not
observed.
'I ken there's daft-like clashes rinnin' round, but I ne'er mind them.
There's folk 'at maun aye be blatherin' some gate. But he's a gude
man, I'll say! an' a worthy son o' the gude auld minister 'at gaed
afore him.'
'An' ye think it's lees the folk's tellin' about him?' with a
quizzical smile. Elspeth had heard all the rumours, and after a
lengthened experience of her fellow-creatures, she was disposed to
credit all she heard against any of them, without thinking much the
worse of them for merely being found out, which she supposed to be the
only difference between them and their accusers; but it was a tempting
amusement to prod Tibbie on the subject of these reports, and to hover
about the edge of what must not be said to a friend or a guest.
'I'll believe naething on Mester Brown till there's pruif for't! He's
a gude lad, an' a free-handet as I hae cause to ken.'
'Ay! What is't ye ken, Tibbie?'
'Aweel! he has gien me siller like the fine gentleman he is! An' me no
seekin't frae him either.'
'An' hoo was that, Tibbie?'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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