"Ay, jist helpin' to mak' a heepocreet," answered Thomas, with a nod
and a grim smile, as he threw a trowelful of mortar mixed with small
pebbles against the wall.
"What mean ye by that?" rejoined Annie.
"Gin ye kent this auld bothie as weel as I do, ye wadna need to spier
that question. It sud hae been pu'ed doon fra the riggin to the
fundation a century afore noo. And here we're pittin a clean face upo'
't, garrin' 't luik as gin it micht stan' anither century, and nobody
had a richt to luik asclent at it."
"It _luiks_ weel eneuch."
"I tell't ye that I was makin' a heepocreet. There's no a sowl wants
this hoose to stan' but the mistress doon there, that doesna want to
waur the siller, and the rottans inside the wa's o' 't, that doesna
want to fa' into the cluiks o' Bawdrins and Colley--wha lie in wait for
sic like jist as the deevil does for the sowl o' the heepocreet.--Come
oot o' the sun, lassie. This auld hoose is no a'thegither a heepocreet:
it can haud the sun aff o' ye yet."
Thomas had seen Annie holding her hand to her head, an action
occasioned partly by the heat and partly by the rebuff Alec had given
her. She stepped into the shadow beside him.
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