Clergy -- Fiction; Country life -- Scotland -- Fiction; Deception -- Fiction; Romanies -- Fiction; Scotland -- Fiction
Presently I was up and trudging to the Loups of Malcolm. At the
Loups the river runs narrow and deep between cliffs, and the spot
is so called because one Malcolm jumped across it when pursued by
wolves. Next day he returned boastfully to look at his jump, and
gazing at it turned dizzy and fell into the river. Since that time
chains have been hung across the Loups to reduce the distance
between the farms of Carwhimple and Keep-What-You-Can from a mile
to a hundred yards. You must cross the chains on your breast. They
were suspended there by Rob Angus, who was also the first to
breast them.
But I never was a Rob Angus. When my pupils practise what they
call the high jump, two small boys hold a string aloft, and the
bigger ones run at it gallantly until they reach it, when they
stop meekly and creep beneath. They will repeat this twenty times,
and yet never, when they start for the string, seem to know where
their courage will fail. Nay, they will even order the small boys
to hold the string higher. I have smiled at this, but it was the
same courage while the difficulty is far off that took me to the
Loups. At sight of them I turned away.
I prayed to God for a little of the mettle of other men, and He
heard me, for with my eyes shut I seemed to see Margaret beckoning
from across the abyss as if she had need of me. Then I rose calmly
and tested the chains, and crossed them on my breast. Many have
done it with the same danger, at which they laugh, but without
that vision I should have held back.
I was now across the river, and so had left the chance of drowning
behind, but I was farther from Thrums than when I left the
school-house, and this countryside was almost unknown to me. The
mist had begun to clear, so that I no longer wandered into fields;
but though I kept to the roads, I could not tell that they led
toward Thrums, and in my exhaustion I had often to stand still.
Then to make a new start in the mud was like pulling stakes out of
the ground. So long as the rain faced me I thought I could not be
straying far; but after an hour I lost this guide, for a wind rose
that blew it in all directions.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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