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He decided that a gruel made from a sheaf of Robin Hood's arrows would be strengthening. When suffering pain, "a right gude willie-waught," or a stiff cup of hemlock of the Socrates brand, before retiring, he considered very good. He said he had heard recommended a dose of salts distilled from the tears of Niobe, but he didn't approve of that remedy.
He broke down and sobbed a while. "And you Wullie and you! the only man friend iver I had!" He sought the dog's bloody paw with his right hand. "'An' here's a hand, my trusty fier, An gie's a hand o' thine; An' we'll tak' a right guid willie-waught, For auld lang syne." He sat there, muttering, and stroking the poor head upon his lap, bending over it, like a mother over a sick child.
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