MacGregor

“ In fact, they were seven horse grenadiers of Captain MacDougal's troop, which was then attached to the garrison of Inversnaid.
The tattered yet warlike aspect of MacGregor, the well-known red and black checks of his tartan, his powerful figure and ruddy-coloured beard, made them certain that he was Rob Roy, the outlaw, and with shouts of "MacGregor!—MacGregor Campbell!" some drew their swords, while others took pistols from their holsters and prepared for an attack. ”

“ This put an end to the fray, for all his followers fled down the hill-side, pursued by the MacGregors—all save one, a man of powerful form and ferocious aspect, who was naked to the waist, and had his kilt girdled round him by a belt of untanned bullhide.
This Celtic savage, whose name was Aulay MacAulay, flung himself upon MacAleister, who had stumbled and fallen. Seizing the henchman by the throat with his teeth, he grasped Greumoch MacGregor by the right foot, and with a fragment of his sword, which had been broken, endeavoured to despatch them both. ”

“ Macgregor's inquiry was interrupted by his colliding violently with a bag carried by a gentleman hurrying for his train.
"Ye see whit ye get fur no' lukin' whaur ye're gaun," said his mother. "Pit his bunnet stracht, John.... Puir mannie, it wis a gey sair dunt," she added, gently.
"I'm no greetin', maw," said Macgregor, in a quavering voice, rubbing his eyes with his cuff.
"That's a braw lad!" said Lizzie.
"Never heed, Macgreegor! Ye'll be a man afore yer mither!" said John. ”

“ Macgregor tried to speak, but could not. His readiness and jauntiness deserted him.
One of John's hands stole to the pocket where he kept his purse. "Lizzie?" he muttered, enquiringly.
She frowned for a moment; then she nodded. "I'm ower weel pleased to try to prevent ye, John," she whispered.
"Macgreegor," said his father. "Yer Maw an' me's rale pleased wi' ye fur savin' ver money to buy yer Granpaw a present. I cudna ha'e dune it masel' when i wis a laddie like you. An' here a saxpence fur ye." ”

“ Ye see, I'll maybe get shot, an' I dinna want to dee in debt. An' I'll send the auld cat a caird wi' something nice on it, to please ye . . . . Eh?'
'Aw, onything ye like, but for ony sake clay up! Shift!' cried the distracted Macgregor.
'Weel gi'e's a fag . . . . an' a match,' said Willie.
He received them in his face, but merely grinned as he languidly removed himself.
The two scrawls so hastily and under such difficulties produced by Macgregor are sacred. He would never write anything more boyish and loving, nor yet more manly and brave, than those 'few lines' to his mother and sweetheart. ”

“ Macgregor remained in a semi-stunned condition of mind until the opportunity came for making a little private bonfire of the two letters; after which melancholy operation he straightway recovered his usual good spirits.
'Never heed, Wullie,' he said, later; 'we'll get oor chance yet.'
Willie exploded. 'What for did ye get me to mak' sic a —— cod o' masel'?'
'Cod o' yersel'? Me?'
'Ay, you!—gettin' me to send a caird to ma —— aunt! What for did ye dae it?'
Macgregor stared. 'But ye didna post it,' he began.
'Ay, but I did. I gi'ed it to a man at the station.'
'Oh! . . . ”

“ She was your affair.'
'I never asked her to spend the evening',' Willie retorted, truthfully enough, 'Twa's comp'ny.'
Macgregor felt his face growing hot. With an effort he said coldly: 'If ye had stopped wi' us ye wudna ha'e been back at the beer an' broke yer pledge.'
'Wha tell't ye I was at the beer?'
'Yer breath, ye eediot!'
'Ho! so ye was pretendin' ye was sleepin' when I spoke to ye!
Cooard to smell a man's breath wi' yer eyes shut!'
Macgregor turned wearily away. ”

“ Now and then Macgregor chuckled with moderate heartiness.
'Enjoyin' yersel'?' she said in a chocolate whisper, close to his ear.
'So, so.'
'Ye're like me. I prefer the serious picturs. Real life an' true love for me! Ha'e a sweetie? Oh, ye're smokin'. As I was sayin', ye're a queer lad, Macgreegor.' She leaned against his arm. 'What made ye stan' me a slider, an' a champion tea, an' they nice sweeties, an' a best sate in a pictur hoose—when ye wasna extra keen on ma comp'ny?'
'Dear knows.'
She drew away from him so smartly that he turned his face towards her. ”

“ A dark object was seen to bound forth upon the beach at no great distance from the spot where Macgregor stood. A less strongly fortified heart would have quailed with fear, but his was armed with potent spells. He stretched his eyeballs towards the object, when, less to his astonishment than delight, he beheld a black [15] horse, of immense size, and of beautiful proportions, approaching him through the lurid twilight. ”

“ The tone of the words caused Macgregor to stare, but he said calmly enough: 'Either ye was a leear the nicht ye enlisted, or ye're a leear noo. Ye can tak' yer choice.'
'An' you can tak' aff yer coat!'
'I dinna need to undress for to gi'e ye a hammerin', if that's what ye're efter. But I'm no gaun to dae it here. We'd baith get into trouble.'
'Ye're henny,' said Willie.
Macgregor was more puzzled than angry. Here was Willie positively asking for a punching in public!
'What's wrang wi' ye, Wullie?' he asked in a lowered voice. 'Wait till we get oor next leave. ”

“ She'll no luk crabbit if ye're polite-like to her. Ha'e a shot at it, onyway. I'll come wi' ye."
Macgregor plucked up courage for the desperate venture. "Come on, then. You haud [hold] ma balloon."
Followed by his friend, Macgregor advanced solemnly toward the old people.
Said gran'paw:
"Here's Macgreegor comin' to shake han's wi' ye, Sarah. Come awa', ma mannie.
Aunt Purdie regarded her nephew condescendingly. "So you're having a party, are you? Well, I'm sure I hope you're all behaving yourselves."
His courage wavering, Macgregor pushed forward the chair. "Are ye no' for a sate?" ”

“ Whit's the meanin' o' the word contemplate?"
"It means to be ashamed," replied Macgregor after considerable reflection.
"It disna! But ye micht weel be ashamed o' yersel', Macgreegor! Tak' yer book, an' dinna lift yer e'en frae it fur hauf-an-'oor, an' then I'll hear ye yer meanin's again, an' yer spellin', furbye."
Taking the book from his mother, Macgregor returned unwillingly to his seat, while his father, who was glad when the' little examination was over, jocularly observed:—
"Never heed, ma mannie. Ye'll dae a' richt next time! There's some o' yer words wud puzzle me. Eh, Lizzie?" ”

“ Wee Jeannie continued to apply herself to a stick of barley-sugar, and said nothing.
"She's ower wee fur to oar," said Macgregor, scornfully. " Whit wey can I no' get oarin', maw?"
"Michty me! Can ye no' tak' a tellin', laddie? See the yatts thonder! See thon big yin wi' the yella lum!"
"It's no' a lum; it's a funnel," returned Macgregor, coldly.
"Aweel, it's a' yin," said his mother, agreeably. "See thon steamboat comin' to the pier! Whit a reek! It's got yella lums—funnels—tae."
"I like rid funnels better nor yella yins. Can I get oarin' noo, maw?"
"Tits, Macgreegor! ”

“ I got the potty, paw."
"But ye sud be sorry, Macgreegor."
"Whit wey, paw?"
"Wis he greetin'?"
"Ay; wis he!"
John looked across at Lizzie for aid, but she was sewing diligently.
"Weel," he said, haltingly, "yer maw an' me's no' vera pleased wi' whit ye done to Wullie Thomson. It wisna fair to strike the likes o' him."
Macgregor's visage began to assume an anxious expression.
"Yer maw," continued John—"yer maw says ye canna——"
"John!" murmured Lizzie, warningly.
"Yer maw and me thinks ye canna get ony taiblet the morn."
Macgregor's under-lip shot out quivering. ”

“ Na, na, John; she's no that easy frichtit."
"Aweel, ye ken best, Lizzie. See, gi'e her to me."
"Oh, I'll haud her till we get inside. She'll shin be walkin' her lanesome—wull ye no', honey? Jist keep a grup o' Macgreegor, John, or he'll be fleein' awa' an' gettin' rin ower or wannert."
"Paw," said Macgregor, "I see the Zoo."
"Ay, thon's hit. Ye never see wild beasts afore, Macgreegor?"
"I near seen wild beasts in the shows at the Lairgs, paw."
"Aw, ay; ye wis bidin' wi' yer aunt Purdie then. She wud be feart to gang in whaur the beasts wis." ”

“ Anyway, the reply was a curt 'I don't think.'
'I believe ye're ashamed o' the uniform,' said Willie, disagreeable under his own disappointment at the verdict.
'Say it again!' snapped Macgregor.
Willie ignored the invitation, and swore by the great god Jings that he would assuredly wear breeks unless something happened. The only thing that may be said to have happened was that he did not wear breeks.
As a matter of fact, Macgregor, with his sturdy figure, carried his kilt rather well. The lanky William, however, gave the impression that he was growing out of it perceptibly, yet inevitably. ”

“ I want to be cairrit noo."
"Na, na, I daurna tak' ye oot yer bed."
"Hap me weel, an' cairry me, paw," said the boy.
Eventually his father gave in, rolled him in a blanket, and began to pace the kitchen floor.
"Mairch!" commanded Macgregor. "An' whustle tae," he added; "whustle like a baun'!"
John obligingly began to whistle "The Girl I Left Behind Me," and marched up and down the kitchen till Macgregor expressed himself satisfied.
"Sing noo, paw."
"Is yer heid no' bad?"
"No' sae bad as it wis. Sing, paw!"
"Vera weel," said John, sitting down with his burden at the fireside. ”

“ She felt that, on the whole, her man was behaving really discreetly.
"But I'm no' heedin' aboot the book. Paw, an' wee Joseph likes readin'," said Macgregor. "An' it's a daft story onywey."
"Hoo can ye say that, Macgreegor, when ye've never read it?" his mother inquired.
"I've read some o' it. There's naebody gets kilt in it. I like stories about folk gettin' their heids cut off or stabbit through an' through wi' swords an' spears. An' there's nae wild beasts. ”

“ Macgregor laid his boat on the ground. "Chairlie ran awa'. He said his Maw didna want him to play wi' me ony mair, Granpaw, whit wey?"
"Whit's that ye're saying, Macgreegor?"
"Chairlie said his Maw didna want him to play wi' me ony mair. I think she's gentry. She's an' auld footer. I like Chairlie."
"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Purdie, suddenly. Then he uttered several words, wildly.
Macgregor gaped. Never before had he heard his grandfather use such words.
But quarter-of-an-hour later he was sailing his boat—how well it sailed!—with love in his young heart for Charlie Fortune. ”

“ Then came best of all from young and gladsome hearts those ringing cheers, and the lively band roused up the quiet night waves with “Rob Roy MacGregor O!”
If I know a lad for the Merchant Navy, he shall go to it best taught by companions as well as by officers, in the school for sea life aboard the ‘Worcester.’
At Greenhithe the ‘Chichester’ and her sister ship the ‘Arethusa’ (presented by the Baroness Burdett Coutts) are for poor lads without home, without friends, nay, without hope from man unless you and I will help them. Can we refuse so strong a plea from England’s little sons? ”

“ Soberly, the mounted policeman pondered his problem. If “Rat” MacGregor was the murderer, as the cards seemed to indicate, why, with so much money in his possession, had he set out on a trail which led farther into the wilderness? By all the rules of common sense, a person of MacGregor’s caliber would have lost no time in getting back to the gay “outside.” [1] It was inevitable. The desire within him would have been stronger than the will to resist. A powerful influence indeed, that would pull a man north when wealth was burning his pockets. ”

“ Christina, teapot in one hand, kettle in the other, burst out laughing.
'Mind ye dinna burn yersel'!' cried Macgregor, starting into life.
'Haud the kettle, Mac,' said she. 'It's no fair o' Wullie to be sae funny.'
'I wasna funny!' Willie protested.
'It's yer notion o' the optimistic that tickled me,' she said. 'Pour, Mac; I'm steady noo. But ye're quite richt, Wullie. We canna be ower discreet when cash is involved. I'll get some high-class cairds for ye to inspect till the tea's infused.'
Macgregor would dearly have liked to follow her into the shop. ”

“ MacGregor also edited, for Bonn's 'Standard Library, De Lolme's 'Constitution of England,' with a life of the author, and notes, London, 1853, 8vo.
MacGregor was an able and industrious compiler of statistics, a vigorous writer and a clear thinker. On the other hand, he was a utilitarian of the most extreme type, and, identifying civilisation with material prosperity, was as unfit to write history as to make it. He was a member of the Académie de l'Industrie Agricole. ”

“ On one occasion he had chased away a small dog which in a playful mood had caused her much alarm, and since then she had regarded him in the light of a hero, and had somewhat embarrassed him with her attentions, for Macgregor was sorely afraid of the chaff of his boy friends, who, with the exception of his chum, Willie Thomson, were not slow to make jeering observations when they caught him in the company of his admirer, Therefore, as a rule, he passed her without speaking, or at most with a hurried and awkward reply to her shy but eager remark, made in the fond hope of interesting him. ”

“ Pumpherston," said Mrs. M'Ostrich, encouragingly. "Jist ony sang ye like. Ye needna be feart. We're nane o' us musical crickets."
"Ay, come awa', Mr. Pumpherston," murmured several of the guests, clapping their hands.
"Is he a comic, paw?" inquired Macgregor.
"Whisht!" said Lizzie, sighting danger ahead, and giving John, beside whom she was now sitting, a nudge with her elbow.
Mr. Pumpherston shuffled his chair an inch forward, fixed his eyes on the ceiling, and hummed, "Do, me, so, do, soh, me, do."
"Ay, he's a comic!" said Macgregor, in a delighted whisper. ”

“ I wudna like to be you," said Macgregor, dabbling his already bare feet in the water. "Weel, ye can be the man on the pier. Some o' the stanes is a wee thing shoogly, but ye'll jist ha'e to luk whaur ye pit yer feet, Chairlie."
Charlie, after a little hesitation, walked gingerly down the narrow passage of loose stones which terminated with a large flat one, where he found a fairly sure foothold.
"That's it!" cried Macgregor, wading out from shore till the water was within half-an-inch of his clothing. "Ye're jist like a pier-man." ”