"And wha's _your_ minister, Peter, my man?" retorted Thomas, with some
acrimony.
"Mr Cooie, as ye weel ken, Thamas."
"I thoucht as muckle. The doctrine savours o' the man, Peter. There's
no fear o' him or ony o' his followers bein' richteous over-much."
"Weel, ye ken, that's naething but a rabbit i' yer han'. It wad hae
been worried some day. Hoo cam' 't by 'ts deith?"
"I didna mean to kill't. 'Twas a' for fun, ye ken," said Alec,
addressing Thomas.
"There's a heap o' fun," answered Thomas with solemnity, "that carries
deith i' the tail o' 't. Here's the puir cripple laddie's rabbit as
deid's a herrin', and him at hame greetin' his een oot, I daursay."
Alec caught up his cap and made for the door.
"I'll gang and see him. Curly, wha has ony rabbits to sell?"
"Doddles's cleckit aboot a month ago."
"Whaur does Doddles bide?"
"I'll lat ye see."
The boys were hurrying together from the shop, when Thomas caught Alec
by the arm.
"Ye canna restore the rabbit, Alec."
"Hoot! Thamas, ae rabbit's as guid's anither," interposed the smith, in
a tone indicating disapprobation, mingled with a desire to mollify.
"Ay--to them 'at cares for neither.
Pages:
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285