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And there were we rubbin' our een and lookin' at ither like daft folk. For wi' the bang and the skirl the thing had clean disappeared. The sun glintit, the wund blew, and there was the bare yaird whaur the Wonder had been lowping and flinging but ae second syne. The hale way hame I roared and grat wi' the terror of that dispensation.
I went ower to the tombstane that keeps the east wund aff him, an' he said to me, `Andry, man, said he, `I'll no' be able to crawl to see my mither the day. I'll vera likely be deid before she comes. Wull ye tell her no' to greet for me, for I'm restin' on the Lord Jesus, an' I'll be a free man afore night, singing the praises o' redeeming love, and waitin' for her to come?"
The sun gaed doun amang unco-lookin' clouds; it fell as mirk as the pit; no a star, no a breath o' wund; ye couldnae see your han' afore your face, and even the auld folk cuist the covers frae their beds and lay pechin' for their breath. Wi' a' that he had upon his mind, it was gey and unlikely Mr. Soulis wad get muckle sleep.
"Now ye've got her, go ahead." Once more Tim steered his way through the piece, and was about to begin the third time, when a peculiar noise sounded outside. "Hark! what's that?" cried one of the men. "Wind," replied another. "It's a bad night." "That's no wund, I tell ye that," said Alec, and, suiting the action to the word, he arose, crossed the room, and threw open the door.
It seemed she was gaun to speak, but wanted words, an' made a sign wi' the left hand. There cam' a clap o' wund, like a cat's fuff; oot gaed the can'le, the saughs skrieghed like folk; an' Mr. Soulis kenned that, live or die, this was the end o't. 'Witch, beldame, devil! he cried, 'I charge you, by the power of God, begone if you be dead, to the grave if you be damned, to hell.
It seemed she was gaun to speak, but wanted words, an' made a sign wi' the left hand. There cam' a clap o' wund, like a cat's fuff; oot gaed the can'le, the saughs skrieghed like folk' an' Mr. Soulis kenned that, live or die, this was the end o' 't. "Witch, beldam, devil!" he cried, "I charge you, by the power of God, begone if you be dead, to the grave; if you be damned, to hell."
We had got in ower near under the Cutchull'ns, an' had just gane about by Soa, an' were off on a long tack, we thocht would maybe hauld as far's Copnahow. I mind the nicht weel; a mune smoored wi' mist; a fine-gaun breeze upon the water, but no steedy; an' what nane o' us likit to hear anither wund gurlin' owerheid, amang thae fearsome, auld stane craigs o' the Cutchull'ns.
But there was naethin' to be heard, neither inside the manse nor in a' Ba'weary parish, an' naethin' to be seen but the muckle shadows turnin' round the can'le. An' then a' at aince, the minister's heart played dunt an' stood stock-still; an' a cauld wund blew amang the hairs o' his heid. Whaten a weary sicht was that for the puir man's een!
The blacksmith, one eye inside the telescope, paid no attention. "That's so," agreed Spectacle John, with suspicious cordiality, "especially as He's made an occasional vessel jist to hold money." "That's better than bein' a bag to hold wund, like some folks you admire, John," said Sandy McQuarry with deep meaning.
Ut was ot seven thot Henan brought her up on tull the wund, not darun' tull run longer on thot fearful sea. Ot eight, after havun' breakfast, he turns un, an' a half hour after up comes the skupper, bleary-eyed an' shaky an' holdun' on tull the companion.
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