Murdoe McCleod stood at the head of his table and said grace.
“Lord, bless the victuals on this our table and keep peace in our house. Amen.”
Lord, bless the victuals on this our table and keep peace in our house. Amen.He sat down and looked expectantly towards his wife as she cut deeply into the golden crust of a very large pie. On either side of him sat his sons, Euan on his right, Alan on his left and Hector beside his mother.
It was when he looked at his youngest son that there was a faint gleam of appreciation in the old man’s expression. He was proud that one of his boys had not been content to follow in his own footsteps.
He liked, although he had been against it, the independence that Hector had shown even as a small boy.
Although he had done his utmost to prevent his son from
