He took me from a fearful pit, and from the miry clay,
And on a rock he set my feet, establishing my way.
The tune was that wildest of trustful wailings???-_Martyrs_'.
"I didna ken that ye cared aboot psalm-tunes, Mr Cupples," murmured
Alec.
The singing went on and he grew restless.
It was an _eerie_ thing to go out, but she must stop the singing. If it
was Mr Cupples, she could have nothing to fear. Besides, a bad man
would not sing that song.???-As she opened the door, a soft spring wind
blew upon her full of genial strength, as if it came straight from
those dark blue clefts between the heavy clouds of the cast. Away in
the clear west, the half-moon was going down in dreaming stillness. The
dark figure of a little man stood leaning against the house, singing
gently.
"Are you Mr Cupples?" she said.
The man started, and answered,
"Yes, my lass. And wha are ye?"
"I'm Annie Anderson. Alec's some disturbit wi' your singin'. Ye'll wauk
him up, and he'll be a hantle the waur o' 't."
"I winna sing anither stave. It was lanesome stan'in' upo' the ootside
here, as gin I war ane o' the foolish virgins."
"Eh! wadna that be dreidfu'?" responded Annie simply.
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