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We warstled through that winter, God kens how, and it's near a pleasure to me to think o't now, for, rain or no rain, I can never be reduced to sic straits again." The farmer crossed the water without using the stilts which were no longer necessary, and I little thought, as I returned to the school-house, what terrible things were to happen before he could offer me his snuff-mull again.
There I lay and wearied for ye sore, Davie," says he, laying his hand on my shoulder, "and guessed when the two hours would be about by unless Charlie Stewart would come and tell me on his watch and then back to the dooms haystack. Na, it was a driech employ, and praise the Lord that I have warstled through with it!" "What did you do with yourself?" I asked. "Faith," said he, "the best I could!
It was a long road, a sair road, but I did it, and by seven o'clock I was at the edge o' the muirlands. There was a braw mune, and a the glens and taps stood out as clear as midday. Bit by bit, for I was gey tired, I warstled ower the rigs and up the cleuchs to the Gled-head; syne up the stany Gled-cleuch to the lang grey hill which they ca' the Hurlybackit.
January is always a long, flat month: the Christmas festivities are over, the bills are waiting to be paid, the weather is very often of the dreariest, spring is yet far distant. With February, hope and the snowdrops begin to spring, but January is a month to be warstled through as best we can. This January of which I write Jean felt to be a peculiarly long, dull month.
There I lay and wearied for ye sore, Davie," says he, laying his hand on my shoulder, "and guessed when the two hours would be about by unless Charlie Stewart would come and tell me on his watch and then back to the dooms haystack. Na, it was a driech employ, and praise the Lord that I have warstled through with it!" "What did you do with yourself?" I asked. "Faith," said he, "the best I could!
"An' prayin' again' waur enemies nor ever Joshua warstled wi'," returned his father; "for whan I think o' the rebound o' the spirit, even in this my auld age, that cudna but follow the mere liftin' o' the weicht o' debt, I feel as gien my sowl wad be tum'led aboot like a bledder, an' its auld wings tak to lang slow flaggin' strokes i' the ower thin aether o' joy.
There I lay and wearied for ye sore, Davie," says he, laying his hand on my shoulder "and guessed when the two hours would be about by unless Charlie Stewart would come and tell me on his watch and then back to the dooms haystack. Na, it was a driech employ, and praise the Lord that I have warstled through with it!" "What did you do with yourself?" I asked. "Faith," said he, "the best I could!
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