The Sergeant was getting angry. Hall seemed now to be rather a free-and-easy blackguard, although there was a weird gleam in his eye which Adam did not understand; and in spite of his self-respect, he felt a desire to hear more from Jock. So he only remarked, looking steadily at him, "Jock! tak’ care what ye say--tak’ care!"
"Oo ay," said Hall. "I’m lang eneuch in the warld to ken _that_ advice! But what care I for the advice o’ you or ony man? It was for me, nae doot, ye intended that lesson? I’m as gleg as a fish rising to a flee! The lassock said we should love our faither! Hoo daur you or ony man say that tae me?" Then, leaning forward with staring eyes and clenched fist, he said, "I hated my faither! I hated my mither! They hated me. My faither was a Gospel man; he gaed to the kirk on Sabbath--wha but him!--and he drank when he could get it the rest o’ the week; an’ he threshed my mither and us time aboot--me warst o’ a’, as I was the youngest. I focht mony a laddie for lauchin’ at him and for ca’in him names when he was fou, and mony a bluidy nose I got; but he threshed me the mair. My mither, tae, gaed to the kirk, and begged claes for me and my brithers and sisters frae guid folk, and said that my faither wasna weel and couldna work. Oh, mony a lee I telt for them baith! And she drank, as weel, and focht wi’ my faither and us time aboot. And syne they selt a’ their claes and a’ their blankets, and left us wi’ toom stomachs and toom hearts, cowerin’ aboot a toom grate wi’ cauld cinders. I never was at skule, but was cuffed and kickit like a doug; and my wee brithers and sisters a’ dee’d--I dinna ken hoo: but they were starved and threshed, puir things! But they were waik, and I was strang. Sae I leeved--waes me! I leeved! I hae sat oot in the plantin’ mony a nicht greetin’ for my brither Jamie, for he had a sair cough and dwined awa’, naked and starved. He aye gied me his bit bread that he stealt or beggit"--and Jock cleared his throat and wiped his forehead with a scrap of a ragged handkerchief. "But my faither and mither dee’d, thank God! I hate them noo, and they hated me--they hated me, they did"--and he fell into a sort of dream. His vehemence sank into a whisper; and he spoke as one in sleep--"An’ a’ folks hate me--hate me. An’ what for no’? I hate _them_!--God forgive me! Na, na! I’ll no’ say _that_. There’s nae God! But I believe in the Deevil--that I do, firmly."