'Twas me as took Mr. Moore's Cup," the boy replied. "I thowt yo'
mun ha' done wi' it--I found it all hashed upon the floor.""You took it--pit up to it, nae doot, by James Moore."David made a gesture of dissent.
"Ay, by James Moore," his father continued. "He dursena come hissel' for his ill-gotten spoils, so he sent the son to rob the father.
The coward!"--his whole frame shook with passion. "I'd ha' thocht James Moore'd ha' bin man enough to come himself for what he wanted. I see noo I did him a wrang--I misjudged him. I kent him a heepocrite; am o' yer unco gudes; a man as looks one thing, says anither, and does a third; and noo I ken he's a coward. He's fear'd o'
me, sic as I am, five foot twa in ma stockin's." He rose from his chair and drew himself up to his full "Mr. Moore had nowt to do wi' it," David persisted.
"Ye're lyin'. James Moore pit ye to it."
"I tell yo' he did not."
"Ye'd ha' bin willin' enough wi'oot him, if ye'd thocht o't, I grant ye.
But ye've no the wits. All there is o' ye has gane to mak' yer rnuckle body. Hooiver, that's no matter. I'll settle wi' James Moore anither time. I'll settle wi' you noo, David M'Adam."He paused, and looked the boy over from bead to foot.
So, ye're not only an idler! a wastrel! a liar! "--he spat the words out. "Ye're--God help ye--a thief!""I'm no thief!" the boy returned hotly. "I did but give to a mon what ma feyther-- shame on hirn!--wrongfully kept from him.""Wrangfully?" cried the little man, advancing with burning face.
'Twas honorably done, keepin' what wasna your'n to keep! Holdin'
back his rights from a man! Ay, if ony one's the thief, it's not me:
it's you, I say, you! "--and he looked his father in the face with flashing eyes.
"I'm the thief, am I?" cried the other, incoherent with passion.
"Though ye're three times ma size, I'll teach ma son to speak so to me."The old strap, now long disused, hung in the chimney corner. As he spoke the little man sprang back, ripped it from the wall, and, almost before David realized what he was at, had brought it down with a savage slash across his son's shoulders; and as he smote he whistled a shrill, imperative note:
"Wullie, Wullie, to me!"
David felt the blow through his coat like a bar of hot iron laid across his back. His passion seethed within him; every vein throbbed; every nerve quivered. In a minute he would wipe out, once and for all, the score of years; for the moment, however, there was urgent business on hand. For outside he could hear the quick patter of feet hard-galloping, and the scurry of a huge creature racing madly to a call.
With a bound he sprang at the open door; and again the strap came lashing down, and a wild voice:
"Quick, Wullie! For God's sake, quick!"
David slammed the door to. It shut with a rasping snap; and at the same moment a great body from without thundered against it with terrific violence, and a deep voice roared like the sea when thwarted of its prey.
"Too late, agin!" said David, breathing hard; and shot the bolt home with a clang. Then he turned on his father.
"Noo," said he, "man to man!"
"Ay," cried the other, "father to son!"
The little man half turned and leapt at the old musketoon hanging on the wall. He missed it, turned again, and struck with the strap full at the other's face. David caught the falling arm at the wrist, hitting it aside with such tremendous force that the bone all but snapped. Then he smote his father a terrible blow on the chest, and the little man staggered back, gasping, into the corner; while the strap dropped from his numbed fingers.
Outside Red Wull whined and scratched; but the two men paid no heed.
David strode forward; there was murder in his face. The little man saw it: his time was come; but his bitterest foe never impugned Adam M'Adam's courage.
He stood huddled in the corner, all dis-. hevelled, nursing one arm with the other, entirely unafraid.
"Mind, David," he said, quite calm, "murder 'twill be, not manslaughter.""Murder 'twill be," the boy answered, in thick, low voice, and was across the room.
Outside Red Wull banged and clawed high up on the door with impotent pats.
The little man suddenly slipped his hand in his pocket, pulled out something, and flung it. The missile pattered on his son's face like a rain-drop on a charging bull, and David smiled as he came on. It dropped softly on the table at his side; he looked down and--it was the face of his mother which gazed up at him!
"Mither!" he sobbed, stopping short. "Mither! Ma God, ye saved him--and me!"He stood there, utterly unhinged, shaking and whimpering.
It was some minutes before he pulled himself together; then he walked to the wall, took down a pair of shears, and seated himself at the table, still trembling. Near him lay the miniature, all torn and crumpled, and beside it the deep-buried axe-head.
He picked up the strap and began cutting it into little pieces.
"There! and there! and there!" he said with each snip. "An' ye hit me agin there may be no mither to save ye."M'Adam stood huddling in the corner. He shook like an aspen leaf;his eyes blazed in his white face; and he still nursed one arm with the other.
"Honor yer father," he quoted in small, low.
