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Updated: May 19, 2025
He swam to the other side, and crept softly on to the roof, and over the ridge. But a broken slate betrayed him. The woman saw him, rushed to the fire-place, caught up the poker, and darted back to defend the window. "Ye s' no come in here, I tell ye," she screeched, "an' my man stickin' i' yon boortree buss!" Gibbie advanced. She made a blow at him with the poker.
Sure there never was a Protestant buried in it but one, an' the next mornin' there was a boortree bush growin' out o' the grave, an' it's there yet to prove the maricle. Oh! ay, Carndhu's holy ground, an' that's where I must sleep."
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