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Updated: June 9, 2025
He turned an' gaed his ways oot o' that room, and locket the door ahint him; and step by step doon the stairs, as heavy as leed; and set doon the can'le on the table at the stair-foot. He couldnae pray, he couldnae think, he was dreepin' wi' caul' swat, an' naething could he hear but the dunt-dunt-duntin' o' his ain heart.
It was sugarelly watter, an' the can'le had been cut oot o' a neep an' laid juist whaur it was handy. Ye never heard sic lauchin' as there's been sin' the story eekit oot. Sandy's heid pillydakus amon' them a' noo, an' they think he's peyed aff Pottie wi' compound interest.
"Ay, weel eneuch. Only I wad sair like a bittie o' can'le," was Annie's trembling reply, for she had a sad foreboding instinct now. "Can'le! Na, na, bairn," answered Mrs Bruce. "Ye s' get no can'le here. I canna affoord can'les. There's thirteen steps to the firs, and twal to the neist." With choking heart, but without reply, Annie went.
Bandy touched Sandy here, an' he stoppit, an' a' the lads clappit their hands. Then Bandy gae Sandy a touch here an' there, an' ye never saw the like. He ate a penny can'le, an' drank half a bottle o' ink, an' I cudna tell ye a' what.
But what for sud I no tak' it wi' composur'? We'll hae to tak' oor ain turn er lang, as composed as we hae the skiel o', and gang oot like a lang nibbit can'le ay, an lea' jist sic a memory ahin' some o' 's, Bawby." "I kenna gien ye mean me, Miss Horn," said the woman; "but it's no that muckle o' a memory I expec' to lea' ahin' me."
"Hold on a meenit till I strik' a spunk, an' see wha's a' deid," he says; an' wi' that he strak' a match an' lichtit the can'le. Bandy had gotten himsel' akinda warsled oot o' the boiler, but Stumpie Mertin had tnakit his wid leg ower by the ankle, an' there he was hawpin' aboot, gaen bobbin' up an' doon like a rabbit's tail, roarin' "Murder!"
"When I gaed up the stair wi' a licht, what did I see but my Auntie Leeb's braw lookin'-gless a' to flinders i' the flure? The licht o' the can'le had burned up against it, an' riven't a' to pieces. When I turned roond, here's Sandy stappin' ooten his kilt, an' gaen awa' to pet on his troosers.
I think he had gotten haud o' a shelf abune his heid, an' giein' himsel' a poo up; for there was a most terriple reeshel o' broken bottles, an' beef tins, an' roarin' an' swearin', you never heard the like. "What i' the face o' the earth was ye doin' blawin' oot the can'le, Sandy?" said Dauvid Kenawee.
"Hoot!" rejoined the laird, "wad ye hae me plaguit to tell the laddie there a' thing I wad du for him, as gien he hadna a hert o' his ain to tell 'im a score o'things ay, hun'ers o' things? Dinna ye ken 'at the speerit o' man's the can'le o' the Lord?" "But sae mony for a' that follows but their ain fancies! That ye maun alloo, laird; an' what comes o' yer can'le than?"
We got doon the stair an' I lichtit the fire an' got the kettle to the boil, an' we sat an' harkined to the wind skreechin' doon the lum, an' groanin' an' wailin' amon' the trees ower the road, an' soochin' roond aboot the washin'-hoose. I raley never heard the marrow o't. The nicht o' the fa'a'in' o' the Tay Brig was but the blawin' oot o' a can'le aside it.
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