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Here the poor maniac sung, in a low and wild tone, "My banes are buried in yon kirkyard Sae far ayont the sea, And it is but my blithesome ghaist That's speaking now to thee. "But after a', Jeanie, my woman, naebody kens weel wha's living and wha's dead or wha's gone to Fairyland there's another question. Whiles I think my puir bairn's dead ye ken very weel it's buried but that signifies naething.
There was naebody wantit her to teach their bairns, and yon grandee o' a schulemistress telt the puir lassie she wasna competent for teachin', an' that efter a' the guid money her feyther had spent upo' her learnin'. Weel, Mary Ann she comes to me, an' says, 'Will ye gie me wark at Hunters' Brae? says she. 'The doctor's awa, says I, but she begged that hard I couldna say no to the creature.
"Ye camna to the Mains to tell them there what kin' o' wather it wis!" "I cam whaur I cud win," answered the woman; "an' for my wull, that's naething to naebody noo it's no as it was ance though, gien I cud get it, there micht be mair nor me the better for't. An' sae as ye wad gang the len'th o' a glaiss o' whusky " "Ye s' get nae whusky here," interrupted Jean, with determination.
"It's little better than a sin," she used to insist, "tae see the bonnie suit gien the Doctor by the Countess o' Kilspindie, wi' dear knows hoo much o' her ain auld lace on 't, lyin' useless, wi' naebody tae get a sicht o't on his back. Dinna ye think, man" this with much persuasiveness "that ye cud get the Doctor tae pit on his velvets on an occasion, maybe a Saicrament?
"Only," said Robert, in final warning, "dinna ye lat them tak ye, Gibbie, an' score yer back again, my cratur; an' dinna ye answer naebody, whan they speir what ye're ca'd, onything mair nor jist Gibbie." The boy laughed and nodded, and, as Janet said, the bairn's nick was guid 's the best man's word. Now came a happy time for the two boys.
It wud be a puir wey o' doin', I'm thinkin', whaur naebody was wyzer than his neeper, an' whaur ye wud never hae the chance o' doin' a freend a gude turn." "It's past my comprehension," said the Gairner.
'I had not the least suspicion of it, I assure you, returned Miss St. John. 'But, tell me, what makes you go through here always at the same hour with the same parcel under your arm? 'Ye winna tell naebody will ye, mem, gin I tell you? Miss St.
An' the next day he came hame frae the funeral wi' a smile upo' the face whaur had been nane for mony a lang; an' the neist Sunday they h'ard him singin' i' the kirk as naebody had ever h'ard him sing afore. An' never frae that time was there a moan or complaint to be h'ard frae the lips o' aither o' the twa.
I sit by my lane, an' smoke my pipe, wi' naebody to gi'e me a sup o' water. Achty-sax is ower auld for a mon, ower auld." These are the sharp contrasts of life one cannot bear to face when one is young and happy.
For he never forgets that Mary was of the royal blood and a thorough Stewart, that her face turned men's heads in every country she touched, that she had the courage of a man in her, that she was shamefully used, and if she did throw over that ill-conditioned lad, well . . . "Puir lassie, she hed naebody tae guide her, but sall, she focht her battle weel," and out of this judgment none can drive an honest Scot.
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