"
"It's a gran' _name_," said Cupples with emphasis.
"'Deed is't, and I hae a richt to beir 't."
"Ye'll be a descendant, nae doot, o' the Yerl o' Carrick?" said
Cupples, guessing at his weakness.
"O' the king, sir. Fowk may think little o' me; but I come o' him that
freed Scotland. Gin it hadna been for Bannockburn, sir, whaur wad
Scotland hae been the day?"
"Nearhan' civileezed unner the fine influences o' the English, wi'
their cultivation and their mainners, and, aboon a', their gran'
Edwards and Hairries."
"I dinna richtly unnerstan' ye, sir," said Bruce. "Ye hae heard hoo the
king clave the skull o' Sir Henry dee Bohunn???-haena ye, sir?"
"Ow, aye. But it was a pity it wasna the ither gait. Lat me see the way
to my room, for I want to wash my han's and face. They're jist barkit
wi' stour (dust)."
Bruce hesitated whether to show Mr Cupples out or in. His blue blood
boiled at this insult to his great progenitor. But a half-crown would
cover a greater wrong than that even, and he obeyed. Cupples followed
him up-stairs, murmuring to himself:
"Shades o' Wallace and Bruce! forgie me. But to see sma' craters cock
their noses and their tails as gin they had inherited the michty deeds
as weel as the names o' their forbears, jist scunners me, and turns my
blude into the gall o' bitterness???-and that's scripter for't.
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