Christian fiction; Highlands (Scotland) -- Fiction
"That's how he takes the bread out of my mouth--doing his work
himself!" rejoined the youth, who had been to Glasgow, and thought
he had learned a thing or two.
The chief recovered from his impulse to pull off his coat and give
it him.
"I will make you an offer, my lad," he said instead: "come to the
farm and take my place. For every fair day's work you shall have a
fair day's wages, and, for every bit of idleness, a fair thrashing.
Do you agree?"
The youth pretended to laugh the thing off, but slunk away, and was
seen no more till eating time arrived, and "Lady Macruadh's"
well-filled baskets were opened.
"And who wouldn't see a better coat on his chief!" cried the little
tailor. "I would clip my own to make lappets for his!"
They reached the moss. It lay in a fold of the hills, desert and
dreary, full of great hollows and holes whence the peat had been
taken, now filled with water, black and terrible,--a land hideous by
day, and at night full of danger and lonely horror. Everywhere stood
piles of peats set up to dry, with many openings through and
through, windy drains to gather and remove their moisture. Here and
there was a tuft of dry grass, a bush of heather, or a few
slender-stalked, hoary heads of CANNACH or cotton-grass; it was a
land of devoted desolation, doing nothing for itself, this bountiful
store of life and warmth for the winter-sieged houses of the strath.
They went heartily to work. They cut turf for their walls and peats
for their fires; they loaded the carts from the driest piles, and
made new piles of the fresh wet peats they dug. It was approaching
noon, and some of the old women were getting the food out of "my
lady's" baskets, when over the nearest ridge beyond rose men to the
number of seven, carrying guns. Rob of the Angels was the first to
spy them. He pointed them out to his father, and presently they two
disappeared together. The rest went on with their work, but the
chief could see that, stooping to their labour, they cast upward and
sidelong glances at them, reading hostility in their approach.
Suddenly, as by common consent, they all ceased working, stood
erect, and looked out like men on their guard. But the chief making
them a sign, they resumed their labour as if they saw nothing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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