"Or else it's nae comin' sae sune as the prophet thocht. I'm no clear
at this moment aboot that. But it's a sma' maitter that."
Andrew's face fell, and he looked thoughtful.
"Hoo mak' ye that oot?" said he.
"Hoots man!" answered Thomas; "dinna ye see 'at gin the man was
cawpable o' makin' sic a mistak's that, i' the mids o' his perfec
confidence in his ain knowledge an' jeedgment, he cud hardly hae been
intendit by Providence for an interpreter o' dark sayings of old?"
Andrew burst into a laugh.
"Wha cud hae thocht, Thomas, 'at ye cud hae pickit sic gumption oot o'
stanes!"
And so they parted, Andrew laughing, and Thomas with a curious smile.
CHAPTER LXI.
Towards the middle of the following week the sky grew gloomy, and a
thick small incessant rain brought the dreariest weather in the world.
There was no wind, and miles of mist were gathered in the air. After a
day or two the heavens grew lighter, but the rain fell as steadily as
before, and in heavier drops. Still there was little rise in either the
Glamour or the Wan Water, and the weather could not be said to be
anything but seasonable.
On the Saturday afternoon, weary of some poor attempts at Greek and
Latin, weary of the wretched rain, and weary with wishing to be with
Kate, Alec could stay in the house no longer, and went out for a walk.
Pages:
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524