The Desperate Journey Read Free

where will we go?”
    Davie shook his head. “Maybe my father will find another croft.”
    Kirsty was troubled. “Davie, do you think this has happened because you threw the partan at the factor and I bit him?”
    “It could be, Kirsty, it could be.” Davie looked worried too.
    “Then maybe – maybe –” Kirsty faltered, “if we went to the factor and said we were sorry, he’d take this paper back again andwe could still bide at Culmailie?”
    “But I’m
not
sorry,” Davie said obstinately. “We were in the right about the partan.”
    “Och, Davie, you’re awful dour!” Kirsty bit her lip. “Will you not even say you are sorry to get us to stay?”
    “Not even to get the factor to take the paper back and let us bide here will I crawl to him!”
    Kirsty was on the verge of tears. “And will you let your pride come before us being turned out of our home? Then I will have to go to the factor and speak to him by myself.”
    Davie hesitated and Kirsty was quick to see it. “I did not think you would let me face yon awful man alone,” she went on.
    “No, I will not do that. I will go with you to the factor and ask him to take back the paper, but I will not say I was wrong over the matter of the crab.”
    “Where shall we find the factor?”
    “I am not sure. Maybe we should go to Dunrobin Castle where the Countess lives and ask for him there.”
    “I – I’d be frightened to go there. Besides, it’s nigh on four miles away.”
    “What are four miles?” Davie said with the contempt of the Highland lad who runs the hills.
    “Eight miles altogether, there and back!” Kirsty reminded him.
    “If you cannot walk eight miles, then you stay here.”
    “No, no, I’ll go with you,” Kirsty said hastily.
    “Then let’s be on our way before Father comes from the market and sees this.” Davie ripped the paper from the nail.
    “Wait! First we must milk the cows or they’ll be bellowing fit to wake the dead,” Kirsty said practically.
    When the cows were milked, Kirsty handed him a piece of bread and cheese. “Here, eat this, then go and wash your hands and face.”
    Davie opened his eyes wide. “Wash myself? For what? It is not the Countess we are going to see, but just the factor.”
    “All the same, we will go clean and not disgrace our mother,” Kirsty replied firmly, and though he grumbled, Davie went out to the well and fetched up a bucket of water to wash himself.
    With scrubbed and shining faces they set off along the road to Dunrobin Castle. Under the tartan homespun shawl that was her Sabbath wear Kirsty carried something carefully.
    “What have you got there?” Davie asked.
    “Our shoes,” Kirsty said, revealing them. “Here! You can carry your own now.”
    “Our shoes!” Davie stopped dead. “What in the name of goodness made you bring those?”
    The children only wore shoes on the Sabbath when they went to church. Even then they walked the mile or so barefoot to save the leather, and only put on the shoes when they came within sight of the church.
    “We will show the factor that the Murrays are not tinkers, that we have shoes like the best in the land,” Kirsty said with dignity. “There will be no call for him then to look with scorn at our dusty feet.”
    Davie took his shoes from her without a word and tucked them under his arm. They plodded on silently for a mile or two, then Kirsty asked, “What will you say to the factor when you speak with him?”
    “I shall ask him to take back this paper and to leave my father and mother to live in peace,” Davie told her.
    “Will you speak so boldly as that to him?” Kirsty asked, admiring, but slightly alarmed. “Will you not go more softly about it, for, after all, he is the factor?”
    “I shall speak plainly, but I will be respectful,” Davie decided, and Kirsty had to be content with that.
    They passed through the gates of the estate and soon afterwards they came within sight of the great castle of Dunrobin; then with one