Day after day, in fair weather or foul, big Malcolm was to be seen stepping with his free Highland step--Malcolm was a lissome, handsome young fellow--across the Manse garden, carrying that small frail burden, which all the inhabitants of the clachan had ceased to stare at, and to which they all raised their bonnets or touched their shaggy forelocks.

"It's the wee earl, ye ken," and one and all treated with the utmost respect the tiny figure wrapped in a plaid, so that nothing was visible except a small child's face, which always smiled at sight of other children.
It was surprising in how few days the clachan, and indeed the whole neighborhood, grew accustomed to the appearance of the earl and his sad story.

Perhaps this was partly due to Helen and Mr.Cardross, who, seeing no longer any occasion for mystery, indeed regretting a little that any mystery had ever been made about the matter, took every opportunity of telling every body who inquired the whole facts of the case.
These were few enough and simple enough, though very sad.

The Earl-- the last Earl of Cairnforth--was a hopeless cripple for life.

All the consultations of all the doctors had resulted in that conclusion.
It was very unlikely he would ever be better than he was now physically, but mentally he was certainly "a' richt"-- or "a' there," as the country-folk express it.