Docherty (43 page)

‘An awesome wee man,’ Andra Crawford said.

There were noddings. Tadger brooded, finding the exact words towards which the mood of their talking had inspired him. When he spoke, his voice was formal, almost polite, like an official statement.

‘He wis only five foot fower. But when yer hert goes fae yer heid tae yer taes, that’s a lot o’ hert.’

One of them rubbed his hands together against the cold. Their silence was agreement, a vision achieved. They had found his epitaph.