fell back against the cold damp stone wall, her eyes rolled up, and her lips began to move. I knew she was pulling from her memory spells and enchantments, blessings on us and curses on others, looking to her old knowledge to save us.
It would have been a natural thing for two people, facing a long night in a cold place, to sit close together and gain a little human comfort from each other's bodily warmth, but Granny had repelled my childish affection so often in the past that I stood hesitating. At last she snapped out, "Oh, stop dithering, Maggie, and sit here beside me. Wind your plaid around both our shoulders, and I'll lay mine across our knees. Be quiet and don't fiddle about. Go to sleep. Fetch the Lord Christ back again, why don't you? The Second Coming's about all that'll save us now."
Her sarcasm sounded like blasphemy to me, and I shivered with more than the cold.
***
I must have slept through a little of that long, weary night, in spite of the chill of the hard stone and the gale blowing through the open windowâenough, anyway, to dream. Wild nightmares pursued me, and I woke several times with a start of horror, though the dreams fled before I could recall them.
Dawn came at last, and the rising sun sent a little warmth into us. It sent no breakfast, though. There had been nowhere, not even a bucket, in which to relieve ourselves, and the place stank already.
There was a strange absence of noise from outside: no cottage doors opening, no water splashing, no footsteps or greetings as people went off to work.
"What do you expect?" sniffed Granny, when I expressed surprise. "Today's the Sabbath. They'll all be getting themselves cleaned up to go to the kirk. They'll be spending the day droning out psalms and feeling pleased with themselves and having their holy ears filled with lies about us."
She had only just stopped speaking when I heard quick footsteps on the outer steps of the tolbooth, and someone rapped on the massive iron-bound door.
"Open up, man! You can't still be sleeping!"
"It sounds like Mr. Robertson," I said fearfully.
"Are they ready?" Mr. Robertson was saying. "Have they breakfasted?"
The great door swung open. We heard Donald Brown mutter something inaudible.
"Is that you, Mister Minister?" Granny called out. "We've not had so much as a crust of bread or a drink of water since you had us put away. So much for your Christian charity."
The bolts of our cell rasped back, and Mr. Robertson, as clean and pink as ever, appeared. He was frowning and seemed about to say something severe in answer to Granny's impertinence, but then his nose wrinkled at the smell and he looked with surprise at the window.
"How did you open the shutter?"
"We did not. The man never closed it," Granny informed him stiffly. "The cold wind had nothing to check it."
Mr. Robertson's long, thin frame twisted around, and he disappeared out of the cell.
"Common decency..." we heard him say. "...will not countenance undue ... some bread at least..."
We heard his quick retreat, and a few moments later Mr. Brown appeared. He planted a loaf of bread and a pitcher of water just inside the door and kicked a wooden bucket viciously toward Granny before slamming the door shut again.
I was so hungry and thirsty that I could have eaten three times the amount of bread and drunk the whole pitcher of water, but Granny made me keep some of it back.
"Wash yourself," she commanded. "No, not like that. I'll do it."
She dipped the corner of my plaid in the last of the water and scrubbed painfully at my face.
"Now do mine."
"What for?" I asked, when I'd done my best on her wrinkled red-veined cheeks. I was puzzled. She'd never made me wash before.
"They'll be taking us out today, I know it," Granny said. "We won't give them extra reasons for despising us. Here. Take off your cap."
I undid the strings that tied my little white cap under my chin and let her run her sharp nails through my hair by way of a comb, trying not to
It would have been a natural thing for two people, facing a long night in a cold place, to sit close together and gain a little human comfort from each other's bodily warmth, but Granny had repelled my childish affection so often in the past that I stood hesitating. At last she snapped out, "Oh, stop dithering, Maggie, and sit here beside me. Wind your plaid around both our shoulders, and I'll lay mine across our knees. Be quiet and don't fiddle about. Go to sleep. Fetch the Lord Christ back again, why don't you? The Second Coming's about all that'll save us now."
Her sarcasm sounded like blasphemy to me, and I shivered with more than the cold.
***
I must have slept through a little of that long, weary night, in spite of the chill of the hard stone and the gale blowing through the open windowâenough, anyway, to dream. Wild nightmares pursued me, and I woke several times with a start of horror, though the dreams fled before I could recall them.
Dawn came at last, and the rising sun sent a little warmth into us. It sent no breakfast, though. There had been nowhere, not even a bucket, in which to relieve ourselves, and the place stank already.
There was a strange absence of noise from outside: no cottage doors opening, no water splashing, no footsteps or greetings as people went off to work.
"What do you expect?" sniffed Granny, when I expressed surprise. "Today's the Sabbath. They'll all be getting themselves cleaned up to go to the kirk. They'll be spending the day droning out psalms and feeling pleased with themselves and having their holy ears filled with lies about us."
She had only just stopped speaking when I heard quick footsteps on the outer steps of the tolbooth, and someone rapped on the massive iron-bound door.
"Open up, man! You can't still be sleeping!"
"It sounds like Mr. Robertson," I said fearfully.
"Are they ready?" Mr. Robertson was saying. "Have they breakfasted?"
The great door swung open. We heard Donald Brown mutter something inaudible.
"Is that you, Mister Minister?" Granny called out. "We've not had so much as a crust of bread or a drink of water since you had us put away. So much for your Christian charity."
The bolts of our cell rasped back, and Mr. Robertson, as clean and pink as ever, appeared. He was frowning and seemed about to say something severe in answer to Granny's impertinence, but then his nose wrinkled at the smell and he looked with surprise at the window.
"How did you open the shutter?"
"We did not. The man never closed it," Granny informed him stiffly. "The cold wind had nothing to check it."
Mr. Robertson's long, thin frame twisted around, and he disappeared out of the cell.
"Common decency..." we heard him say. "...will not countenance undue ... some bread at least..."
We heard his quick retreat, and a few moments later Mr. Brown appeared. He planted a loaf of bread and a pitcher of water just inside the door and kicked a wooden bucket viciously toward Granny before slamming the door shut again.
I was so hungry and thirsty that I could have eaten three times the amount of bread and drunk the whole pitcher of water, but Granny made me keep some of it back.
"Wash yourself," she commanded. "No, not like that. I'll do it."
She dipped the corner of my plaid in the last of the water and scrubbed painfully at my face.
"Now do mine."
"What for?" I asked, when I'd done my best on her wrinkled red-veined cheeks. I was puzzled. She'd never made me wash before.
"They'll be taking us out today, I know it," Granny said. "We won't give them extra reasons for despising us. Here. Take off your cap."
I undid the strings that tied my little white cap under my chin and let her run her sharp nails through my hair by way of a comb, trying not to
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