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As we cam' through the scented birks, we saw a trottin' burnie wimplin' 'neath the white-blossomed slaes and hirplin' doon the hillside; an' while a herd-laddie lilted ower the fernie brae, a cushat cooed leesomely doon i' the dale. We pit aff oor shoon, sae blithe were we, kilted oor coats a little aboon the knee, and paidilt i' the burn, gettin' geyan weet the while.
The 'white-blossomed slaes' sweetened the air, and the distant hills were gay with golden whin and broom, or flushed with the purply-red of the bell heather. We heard the note of the cushats from a neighbouring bush. They used to build their nests on the ground, so the story goes, but the cows trampled them.
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