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There'll no be muckle o' him to rise again." "George, man, dinna jeest i' the face o' a corp," returned the other. "Ye kenna whan yer ain turn may come." "It's no disrespeck to the deid, Thamas. That ye ken weel eneuch. I was only pityin' the worn face o' him, leukin up there atween the buirds, as gin he had gotten what he wanted sae lang, and was thankin' heaven for that same.
He's nane o' yer saft buirds, that ye can sleek wi' a sweyp o' yer airm; he's a blue whunstane that's hard to dress, but, anes dressed, it bides the weather bonnie. I like to work upo' hard stane mysel. Nane o' yer saft freestane, 'at ye cud cut wi' a k-nife, for me!" "Weel, I daursay ye're richt, Thamas."
In the inadvertence of grief, she ran into the shop. "What hae ye gotten there, lassie?" said Bruce, as sharply as if she might have stolen it. "Mr Cowie gave me his Bible, 'cause he's dein' himsel', and doesna want it ony langer," answered Annie. "Lat's luik at it." Annie gave it up with reluctance. "It's a braw buik, and bonnie buirds though gowd an' purple maitters little to the Bible.
But what she micht hae said or dune, I dinna ken; for I sweir to ye, bantam, I know nothing that happent efter, till I cam' to mysel' at the soun' o' a lauch frae outside the door. I kenned it weel eneuch, though it was a licht flutterin' lauch. Maybe I heard it the better frae the conductin' pooer o' timmer, for my broo was doon o' the buirds o' the flure.
"I wad sair like to brak throu the buirds, father?" he said, going again to the laird. "Onything ye like, I tell ye, laddie! I'm growin' curious mysel'," he answered. "I'm feart for makin' ower muckle din, father." "Nae fear, nae fear! I haena a sair heid. The Lord be praist, that's a thing I'm seldom triblet wi'. Gang an' get ye what tools ye want, an' gang at it, an' dinna spare.
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