Great Britain -- History -- 17th century -- Fiction; Historical fiction
The minister stared sternly at the speaker, who sank at once into an
aggrieved quiet. "As God has appointed me the spiritual guide of this
unworthy town, so also has He made me your master in secular affairs. I
will settle your disputes and none other. And, sir, if you or any other
dare gainsay me, then I shall feel justified in leaving argument for
force, and the man who offends I shall fling into the Cuddie’s Pool for
the clearing of his brain and the benefit of his soul." He spoke in a
slow, methodical tone, rolling the words over his tongue. Then I
remembered the many stories I had heard of this man’s autocratic rule
over the folk of the good town of Peebles; how he, alien like to whig
and prelatist, went on his steadfast path caring for no man and snapping
his fingers at the mandates of authority. And indeed in the quiet
fierce face and weighty jaws there was something which debarred men from
meddling with their owner.
Such was his influence on the people that none dared oppose him, and he
gave his decision, which seemed to me to be a just and fair one. After
this they fell to their play once more.
Meantime I had been looking on at the sport from the vantage-ground of
the low wall which looked down on the river. I had debated a question
of farriery with the surgeon, who was also something of a horse-doctor;
and called out greetings to the different players, according as I
favoured their colours. Then when the game no longer amused me, I had
fallen to looking over the country, down to the edge of the water where
the small thatched cottages were yellow in the heat, and away up the
broad empty channel of Tweed. The cauld, where salmon leap in the
spring and autumn, and which is the greatest cauld on the river unless
it be the one at Melrose, might have been crossed dryshod. I began to
hate the weariful, everlasting glare and sigh for the clouds once more,
and the soft moist turf and the hazy skyline. Now it was so heavily
oppressive that a man could scarce draw a free breath. The players
dripped with sweat and looked nigh exhausted, and for myself the
sulphurous air weighed on me like a mount of lead and confused such wits
as I had.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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