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The blackbirds and thrushes welcomed the cooler air with a gush of musical piping, as if the liquid tenderness of the morning had actually got into their throats and made them softer. "You had better snoove away then," said Gourlay. "Donnerton's five mile ayont Fleckie, and by the time you deliver the meal there, and load the ironwork, it'll be late ere you get back.
Snoove away, Peter; snoove away!" Peter shuffled uneasily, and his pale blue eyes blinked at Gourlay from beneath their grizzled crow nests of red hair. "Are we a' to start thegither, sir?" he hesitated. "D'ye mean d'ye mean the carriers too?" "Atweel, Peter!" said Gourlay. "What for no?"
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