She opened it slowly and
gently, with a reverential circumspection, and for the space of about
five minutes, remained silent over it, turning leaves, and tasting, and
turning, and tasting again. At length, with one hand resting on the
book, she turned to Mr Cowie, who was watching with much interest and a
little anxiety the result of the experiment, and said gently and
sorrowfully:
"I dinna think this is the richt buik for me, sir. There's nae sang
in't that I can fin' out. It gangs a' straucht on, and never turns or
halts a bit. Noo ye see, sir, a sang aye turns roun', and begins again,
and afore lang it comes fairly to an en', jist like a day, sir, whan we
gang to oor beds an' fa' asleep. But this hauds on and on, and there's
no end till't ava (at all). It's jist like the sun that 'never tires
nor stops to rest.'"
"'But round the world he shines,'" said the clergyman, completing the
quotation, right good-humouredly, though he was somewhat bewildered;
for he had begun to fall a-marvelling at the little dingy maiden, with
the untidy hair and dirty frock, who had thoughts of her own, and would
not concede the faculty of song to the greatest of epic poets.
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