Violet Jacob > Flemington

42 FLEMINGTON
“ I’ll gie ye Logie Kirk,” said he.
“ O Logie Kirk, among the braes
I’m thinkin’ o’ the merry days
Afore I trod the weary ways
That led me far frae Logie.
“ Fine do I mind when I was young,
Abune thy graves the mavis sung,
And ilka birdie had a tongue
To ca’ me back to Logie.
“ O Logie Kirk, tho’ aye the same,
The burn sings ae remembered name,
There’s ne’er a voice to cry ‘ Come hame
To bonnie Bess at Logie !’
“ Far, far awa’ the years decline
That took the lassie wha was mine
And laid her sleepin’ lang, lang syne
Among the braes at Logie.”
His voice, and the wonderful pathos of his
phrasing, fascinated Archie, but as the last
cadences fell from his mouth, the beggar snatched
up the long switch with which he drove his team
and began to roar.
“ A’m awa’!” he shouted, making every wall and
corner echo. “ Open the gate an’ let me through,
ye misbegotten bairns o’ Auld Nick! Stand back,
ye clortie-faced weans, an’ let me out! Round
about an’ up the road ! Just round about an’ up
the road, a’ tell ye 1”
The last sentences were addressed to the dogs
who were now all on their legs and mindful of the
stick whirling in the air above them.
Archie could see that he was not included in the
beggar’s general address, but, being nearest to the
gate, he swung it open and the whole equipage