Scribner’s Magazine/Volume 60/Number 5/The Bells of Cullam

THE BELLS OF CULLAM
By Ethel Watts Mumford
ILLUSTRATIONS BY ALONZO KIMBALL
LORD LOVALL STUART McCAMMERON of Abernethy and Lochan, was a grand golfer—"gowfer," he pronounced it, with a wonderful rounded "ow." He was sixty-five years old, stood six feet six in his spiked heather-brogues, and his temper was as short as his stroke was long and his accent broad. He was the admiration and terror of all the links from John o' Groat's to "Killiecrankie," and body and soul he owned "Wully" Forsythe, the only caddie to survive his fierce czarship of "the Game of Kings."
In his tyrannical way the old man loved the boy. It was his one concession to human weakness. Ice and iron he was to every other claim. He hated weakness, he hated it so viciously that he had cut out his own heart—though his tenants claimed he never had one—to satisfy that hatred. The countryside told in whispers how he had cast forth his only daughter, lovely, gentle Ann Linsey, because in her feminine softness she had given her heart to Duncan Gordon, who was "no wat, but a puir laddie frae the pass o' the Laicht." Ay, he had put her out, and she and her husband had gone to Canada, to be heard of no more, and the estate be

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