"A terrible laddie, that Sandy Forbes!" said the carpenter, with a sort
of laugh in the _whishk_ of his plane, as he threw off a splendid
_spale_. "They say he's lickit the dominie, and 'maist been the deid o'
him."
"I hae kent waur laddies nor Sandy Forbes," was Thomas's curt reply.
"Ow, deed ay! I ken naething agen the laddie. Him an' oor Willie's unco
throng."
To this the sole answer Thomas gave was a grunt, and a silence of a few
seconds followed before he spoke, reverting to the point from which
they had started.
"I'm no clear but Alec micht hae committed a waur sin than thrashin'
the dominie. He's a dour crater, that Murdoch Malison, wi' his fair
face and his picket words. I doot the bairns hae the warst o' 't in
general. And for Alec I hae great houpes. He comes o' a guid stock. His
father, honest man, was ane o' the Lord's ain, although he didna mak'
sic a stan' as, maybe, he ought to hae dune; and gin his mither has
been jist raither saft wi' him, and gi'en him ower lang a tether, he'll
come a' richt afore lang, for he's worth luikin efter."
"I dinna richtly unnerstan' ye, Thamas."
"I dinna think the Lord 'll tyne the grip o' his father's son.
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