The Judas Tree Read Online Free PDF

keep Sammy, the pony, for odd jobs, and I’ve a good steady Clydesdale to draw my bread van. But it might have been worse. We’ll see ye safe on the eight o’clock train from Ardfillan. In the meantime, yemaun just come back and have a bite with us.’
    â€˜I couldn’t possibly impose on you any more.’
    â€˜Don’t be ridiculous,’ Mary said. ‘You’ve got to meet the rest of the Douglases – and Walter, my fiancé. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to get acquainted with you. That’s to say,’ as a thought occurred to her, ‘ if your folks won’t be anxious about you.’
    Moray smiled and shook his head.
    â€˜No need to worry. I’m quite on my own.’
    â€˜On your own?’ Douglas inquired.
    â€˜I lost both my parents when I was very young.’
    â€˜But ye’ve got relations, surely?’
    â€˜None that I have any need of, or that ever wanted me.’ The baker’s look of sheer incredulity deepened Moray’s smile, caused him to offer a frank explanation. ‘I’ve been alone since I was sixteen. But I’ve managed to put myself through college one way and another, and by being lucky enough to win an odd bursary or so.’
    â€˜Dear me,’ reflected the little baker, quietly but with real admiration. ‘That’s a maist commendable achievement.’
    He seemed to ponder the matter as they jogged along. Then, straightening himself, he began with increased cordiality to point out and describe the features of the countryside, many of which, he asserted, were associated with the events of 1314 that preceded the battle of Bannockburn.
    â€˜Father’s a great reader of Scots history.’ Mary confided to Moray in apology. ‘There’s few quirky things he can’t tell you about Bruce, or Wallace, or the rest of them.’
    They were now approaching Ardfillan and Douglas drew on the shoe brake to ease the pony as they came down the hill towards? the old town lying beneath on the shore of the Firth, shimmering in the hazy sunset. Avoiding the Esplanade, they entered a network of quiet back streets and pulled up before a single-fronted shop with the sign in faded gilt: James Douglas, Baker and Confectioner; and beneath, in smaller letters: Marriages Purveyed; and again, smaller still; Established 1880. The place indeed wore an old-fashioned air, and one that seemed scarcely, prosperous, since the window displayed no more than a many-tiered model of a wedding cake, flanked by a pair of glass urns containing sugar biscuits.
    Meanwhile the baker had sheathed his whip. He shouted:
    â€˜Willie!’
    A bright young boy in an oversized apron that reached from heel to chin ran out of the shop.
    â€˜Tell your aunt we’re back, son; then skep round and give me a hand with Sammy.’
    With considerable skill Douglas backed the pony through the adjacent narrow pend into a cobbled stable yard.
    â€˜Here we are then,’ he announced cheerfully. ‘Take your invalid upstairs, Mary. I’ll be with ye the now.’
    They went up by a shallow curving flight of outside stone steps to the house above the shop, where a narrow lobby gave entrance to the front parlour, furnished in worn red plush with tasselled curtains of the same material. In the centre of the room a heavy mahogany table was already set for high tea, and a coal fire glowed comfortably in the grate, before which a black sheepskin rug spread a cosy, tangled pelt. Darkie, released from Mary’s arms, immediately took possession of it. She had taken off her spencer, now seemed at home in her neat white blouse.
    â€˜Sit down and rest your leg. I’ll run down for a wee minute and see to things. We close at six this evening.’ She added, with a touch of pride: ‘Father doesn’t go in for the Saturday night trade.’
    When she had gone Moray eased himself into a chair, acutely aware of the strangeness of