'Preserve's a'!' cried Rob; but or he could say anither
word, butt the house, scushlin in her bauchles, comes Nancy, rinnin',
an' opens the door wi' a scraich: 'Preserve's a'!' quo' she, 'Robert,
the lum's in a low!' An' fegs! atween the twa reeks, to sunder them,
there was nothing but Nancy hersel. The hoose was as fu' as it cud
haud, frae cellar to garret, o' the blackest reek 'at ever crap oot o'
coal. Oot we ran, an' it was a sicht to see the crater wi' his lang
neck luikin' up at the chimleys. But deil a spark cam' oot o' them--or
reek either, for that maitter. It was easy to see what was amiss. The
loons had been o' the riggin, and flung a han'fu' o' blastin' powther
down ilka smokin' chimley, and syne clappit a divot or a truf upo' the
mou' o' 't. Deil ane o' them was in sicht, but I doobt gin ony o' them
was far awa'. There was naething for't but get a ladder, and jist gang
up an' tak aff the pot-lids. But eh! puir Robert was jist rampin' wi'
rage! No 'at he said muckle, for he daur hardly open his mou' for
sweerin'; and Robert wadna sweer, ye ken; but he was neither to haud
nor bin'."
"What laddies war they, Charles, do ye ken?" asked Andrew.
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