"'Twas you as took ma Cup?" asked the little man at last, leaning forward in his chair.
"'Twas me as took Mr. Moore's Cup," the boy replied. "I thowt yo' mun ha' done wi' it--I found it all bashed upon the floor."
"You took it--pit up to it, nae doot, by James Moore."
"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; ain 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 height.
"Mr. Moore had nowt to do wi' it," David persisted.
"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 muckle 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 him!--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:
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.