For once the contingent of nature was too
powerful for the ends of the preacher.
When the service was over, they rushed out of the chapel.
Robert Bruce was the first to step from the threshold up to the ankles
in water. The rain was falling--not in drops, but in little streams.
"The Lord preserve 's!" he exclaimed. "It's risen a fit (foot) upo'
Glamerton a'ready. And there's that sugar i' the cellar! Bairns, rin
hame yer lanes. I canna bide for ye."
And he was starting off at the top of his speed.
"Hoots! man," cried Thomas Crann, who came behind him, "ye're sae sair
ta'en up wi' the warl, 'at ye hae nae room for ordinar' common sense.
Ye're only stannin' up to the mou's o' yer shune i' the hole 'at ye
unnertook yersel' to fill up wi' the lime 'at was ower efter ye had
turned yer dry stane dyke intil a byre-wa'."
Robert stepped out of the hole and held his tongue. At that moment,
Annie was slipping past him to run back to Tibbie. He made a pounce
upon her and grabbed her by the shoulder.
"Nae mair o' this, Annie!" he said. "Come hame for cowmon dacency, and
dinna gang stravaguin' in a nicht like this, naebody kens whaur."
"A' body kens whaur," returned Annie.
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