Rax doon the bottle, lass, and
I'll jist gie a luik oot an' see whether the water's likely to come in
ower the door-sill; for gin it ance crosses the thrashol', I doot there
wonno be whusky eneuch i' the hoose, and bein' the Sawbath nicht, we
canna weel win at ony mair."
Thus entreated, Mistress Whaup got the bottle down. She knew her
husband must have whisky, and, like a wise woman, got him to take as
large a proportion of the immitigable quantity as possible at home.
Peter went to the door to reconnoitre.
"Guid guide 's!" he cried; "there's a lassie run by like a maukin
(hare), wi' a splash at ilka fit like a wauk-mill. An' I do believe it
was Annie Anderson. Will she be rinnin' for the howdie (midwife) to
Mistress Bruce? The cratur'll be droont. I'll jist rin efter her."
"An' be droont yersel, Peter Whaup! She's a wise lass, an' can tak care
o' hersel. Lat ye her rin."
But Peter hesitated.
"The water's bilin'," cried Mrs Whaup.
And Peter hesitated no longer.
Nor indeed could he have overtaken Annie if he had tried. Before
Peter's tumbler was mixed she was standing on the stone across the
dyer's _dam_, looking down into the water which had risen far up the
perpendicular sides of its rocky conduit.
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