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Cosmo, by gie ower muckle tether to wull thoucht, an' someday ye'll be laid i' the dub, followin' what has naither sense intil't, nor this warl's gude. What was ye thinkin' aboot the noo? Tell me that, an' Is' lat ye gang." "I was thinkin' aboot the burnie, gran'mamma." "It wad be tellin' ye to lat the burnie rin, an' stick to yer buik, laddie!"
"Hoo's gran'mamma?" asked Cosmo. "Ow, duin' weel eneuch, sir weirin awa' bonny. She has naither pang nor knowledge o' sorrow to tribble her. The Lord grant the sowls o' 's a' sic anither lowsin'!" "Hae ye naething better nor cauld watter to gie 'im a drink o', Grizzie, wuman?" asked the laird, but in mere despair.
"Wad it be revenge, than, think ye?" "It micht be: maist o' the stories o' that kin' en' wi' bringin' the murderer an' justice acquant. But the human bein' seems in a' ages to hae a grit dislike to the thoucht o' his banes bein' left lyin' aboot. I hae h'ard gran'mamma say the dirtiest servan' was aye clean twa days o' her time the day she cam an' the day she gaed."
Only the pared potatoes splashed louder in the water as they fell. And the old lady knew as well what that meant, as if the splashes had been articulate sounds from the mouth of the old partisan. The boy rose, and coming forward, rather like one walking in his sleep, stood up before his grandmother, and said, "What was ye sayin', gran'mamma?"
"I was sayin' what ye wadna hearken till, an that's enouch," she answered, willing to show offence. "Say 't again, gran'mamma, if you please. I wasna noticin'." "Na! Is' warran' ye frae noticin'! There ye winna gang, whaur yer ain fule fancy does na lead the w'y.
"The burnie wull rin, gran'mamma, and the buik 'ill bide," said Cosmo, perhaps not very clearly understanding himself. "Ye're gettin' on to be a man, noo," said his grandmother, heedless of the word of his defence, "an' ye maun learn to put awa' bairnly things. There's a heap depen'in' upo' ye, Cosmo. Ye'll be the fift o' the name i' the family, an' I'm feart ye may be the last.
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