Across the stone the water
from the street above was pouring into the Glamour.
"Tibbie," she said, as she entered the cottage, "I doobt there's gaun
to be a terrible spate."
"Lot it come," cried Tibbie. "The bit hoosie's fund't upon a rock, and
the rains may fa', and the wins may blaw, and the floods may ca at the
hoosie, but it winna fa', it canna fa', for it's fund't upo' a rock."
Perhaps Tibbie's mind was wandering a little, for when Annie entered,
she found her face flushed, and her hands moving restlessly. But what
with this assurance of her confidence, and the pleasure of being with
her again, Annie thought no more about the waters of the Glamour.
"What keepit ye sae lang, lassie?" said Tibbie wearily after a moment's
silence, during which Annie had been redisposing the peats to get some
light from the fire.
She told her the whole story.
"And hae ye had nae supper?"
"Na. But I dinna want ony."
"Pit aff yer weet claes than, and come to yer bed."
Annie crept into the bed beside her--not dry even then, for she was
forced to retain her last garment. Tibbie was restless, and kept
moaning, so that neither of them could sleep. And the water kept
sweeping on faster, and rising higher up the rocky mound on which the
cottage stood.
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