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- Роберт Льюис Стивенсон
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- Стр. 144/166
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"
That
's
it
,
"
said
Alan
.
"
And
him
so
young
!
"
cries
the
lass
.
"
He
's
old
enough
to
--
--
"
and
Alan
struck
his
forefinger
on
the
back
part
of
his
neck
,
meaning
that
I
was
old
enough
to
lose
my
head
.
"
It
would
be
a
black
shame
,
"
she
cried
,
flushing
high
.
"
It
's
what
will
be
,
though
,
"
said
Alan
,
"
unless
we
manage
the
better
.
"
At
this
the
lass
turned
and
ran
out
of
that
part
of
the
house
,
leaving
us
alone
together
.
Alan
in
high
good
humour
at
the
furthering
of
his
schemes
,
and
I
in
bitter
dudgeon
at
being
called
a
Jacobite
and
treated
like
a
child
.
"
Alan
,
"
I
cried
,
"
I
can
stand
no
more
of
this
.
"
"
Ye
'll
have
to
sit
it
then
,
Davie
,
"
said
he
.
"
For
if
ye
upset
the
pot
now
,
ye
may
scrape
your
own
life
out
of
the
fire
,
but
Alan
Breck
is
a
dead
man
.
"
This
was
so
true
that
I
could
only
groan
;
and
even
my
groan
served
Alan
's
purpose
,
for
it
was
overheard
by
the
lass
as
she
came
flying
in
again
with
a
dish
of
white
puddings
and
a
bottle
of
strong
ale
.
"
Poor
lamb
!
"
says
she
,
and
had
no
sooner
set
the
meat
before
us
,
than
she
touched
me
on
the
shoulder
with
a
little
friendly
touch
,
as
much
as
to
bid
me
cheer
up
.
Then
she
told
us
to
fall
to
,
and
there
would
be
no
more
to
pay
;
for
the
inn
was
her
own
,
or
at
least
her
father
's
,
and
he
was
gone
for
the
day
to
Pittencrieff
.
We
waited
for
no
second
bidding
,
for
bread
and
cheese
is
but
cold
comfort
and
the
puddings
smelt
excellently
well
;
and
while
we
sat
and
ate
,
she
took
up
that
same
place
by
the
next
table
,
looking
on
,
and
thinking
,
and
frowning
to
herself
,
and
drawing
the
string
of
her
apron
through
her
hand
.
