"Deil choke them upo' the wick o' 't!" exclaimed Curly, when she told
him the next day, seeking a partner in her grief.
But a greater difficulty had to be encountered. It was not long before
she had exhausted her book, from which she had chosen the right poems
by insight, wonderfully avoiding by instinct the unsuitable, without
knowing why, and repelled by the mere tone.
She thought day and night where additional _pabulum_ might be procured,
and at last came to the resolution of applying to Mr Cowie the
clergyman. Without consulting any one, she knocked on an afternoon at
Mr Cowie's door.
"Cud I see the minister?" she said to the maid.
"I dinna ken. What do you want?" was the maid's reply.
But Annie was Scotch too, and perhaps perceived that she would have but
a small chance of being admitted into the minister's presence if she
communicated the object of her request to the servant. So she only
replied,
"I want to see himsel', gin ye please."
"Weel, come in, and I'll tell him. What's yer name?"
"Annie Anderson"
"Whaur do ye bide?"
"At Mr Bruce's, i' the Wast Wynd."
The maid went, and presently returning with the message that she was to
"gang up the stair," conducted her to the study where the minister
sat--a room, to Annie's amazement, filled with books from the top to
the bottom of every wall.
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