"
But indeed so constantly was the grass mown to keep it short, that
there was scarcely a daisy to be seen in it, the long broad lines of
white linen usurping their place, and in their stead keeping up the
contrast of white and green. Around Tibbie and Annie however the
daisies were shining back to the sun, confidently, with their hearts of
gold and their rays of silver. And the butter-cups were all of gold;
and the queen-of-the-meadow, which grew tall at the water-side,
perfumed the whole region with her crown of silvery blossom. Tibbie's
blind face was turned towards the sun; and her hands were busy as ants
with her knitting needles, for she was making a pair of worsted
stockings for Annie against the winter. No one could fit stockings so
well as Tibbie.
"Wha's that comin', lassie?" she asked.
Annie, who had heard no one, glanced round, and, rising, said,
"It's Thomas Crann."
"That's no Thomas Crann," rejoined Tibbie. "I dinna hear the host
(cough) o' 'im."
Thomas came up, pale and limping a little.
"That's no Thomas Crann?" repeated Tibbie, before he had time to
address her.
"What for no, Tibbie?" returned Thomas.
"'Cause I canna hear yer breath, Thamas.
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