'' So saying, MacPhadraick hastened back
up the pathway-gained the road, mounted his
pony, and rode upon his way.
CHAPTER III.
Elspat MacTavish remained gazing on the
money, as if the impress of the coin could have conveyed
information how it was procured.
``I love not this MacPhadraick,'' she said to herself;
``it was his race of whom the Bard hath
spoken, saying, Fear them not when their words
are loud as the winter's wind, but fear them when
they fall on you like the sound of the thrush's song.
And yet this riddle can be read but one way: My
son hath taken the sword, to win that with strength
like a man, which churls would keep him from with
the words that frighten children.'' This idea, when
once it occurred to her, seemed the more reasonable,
that MacPhadraick, as she well knew, himself
a cautious man, had so far encouraged her husband's
practices, as occasionally to buy cattle of
MacTavish, although he must have well known
how they were come by, taking care, however,
that the transaction was so made, as to be accompanied
with great profit and absolute safety. Who
so likely as MacPhadraick to indicate to a young
cateran the glen in which he could commence his
perilous trade with most prospect of success, who
so likely to convert his booty into money? The
feelings which another might have experienced on
believing that an only son had rushed forward on
the same path in which his father had perished,
were scarce known to the Highland mothers of
that day.
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