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An' it min'd me o' the day o' jeedgment. An' there I steid and luikit, till the licht itsel' deid oot, an' naething was left but a gray sky an' a feow starns intil't. An' the cloods gethered, an' the lift grew black an' mirk; an' the haill countryside vainished, till I kent no more aboot it than what my twa feet could answer for.
'It maun be fine fun up there amang thae cloods afore the flauks begin to spread! 'What mean ye by that, Steenie, my man? asked his mother.
"Sic a gran' nicht!" said Donal, after the usual greetings. "Sir Gibbie an' me 's haein' a dauner wi' the mune. Ye wad think she had licht eneuch to haud the cloods aff o' her, wad ye no, mem? But na! they'll be upon her, an' I'm feart there's ae unco black ane yon'er dinna ye see 't wi' a straik o' white, aboot the thrapple o' 't?
Jist think, my lord, hoo gran' wad be the blusterin' blap o' the win' aboot the turrets, as ye stude at yer window on a winter's day, luikin oot ower the gurly twist o' the watters, the air fu' o' flichterin snaw, the cloods a mile thick abune yer heid, an' no a leevin cratur but yer ain fowk nearer nor the fairm toon ower the broo yonner!"
"You got back all right, anyhow," said Blackie. "Aloon i' the vast an' silent spaces of the vaulted heavens," said Tam in his sing-song tones which invariably accompanied his narratives, "the Young Avenger of the Cloods, Tam the Scoot, focht his ficht. Attacked by owerwhelmin' foorces, shot at afore an' behint, the noble laddie didna lose his nairve.
There dinna ye see 't?" he went on pointing to the clouds about the moon, " that ane, I'm doobtin', 'ill hae the better o' her or lang tak her intill 'ts airms, an' bray a' the licht oot o' her. Guid nicht, mem. Guid nicht, Fergus. You ministers sudna mak yersels sae like cloods.
"Suddenly, as the wee hero was guidin' his 'bus through the maze o' cloods, a strange sicht met his ees. It was the caircus of MacBissing!
"Aye a' nicht whiles, whan naebody was aboot 'cep' the win'." He pronounced the word with a long drawn imitative sough "an' the cloods an' the splash o' the watter."
'Eh! he said once to Elshender, during a pause common to a thunder-storm and a lesson on the violin 'eh! wadna ye like to be up in that clood wi' a spaud, turnin' ower the divots and catchin' the flashes lyin' aneath them like lang reid fiery worms? 'Ay, man, but gin ye luik up to the cloods that gait, ye'll never be muckle o' a fiddler.
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