Her words awoke
an echo in Mr Cupples's conscience, but he returned no reply.
"Hoo's Alec?" he asked.
"Some better. He's growin' better, though it's langsome like."
"And do they lippen you to luik efter him, no?"
"Ay. What for no? His mither wad be worn to deith gin she sat up ilka
nicht. He canna bide ouybody but her or me."
"Weel, ye're a young crater to hae sic a chairge.???-I wrote to Mrs
Forbes twa or three times, but I got but ae scrimpit answer. Sae as
sune's I cud win awa', I cam' to speir efter him mysel'."
"Whan did ye come, Mr Cupples?"
"This nicht. Or I reckon it's last nicht noo. But or I wan ower this
len'th, ye war a' i' yer beds, and I daurna disturb ye. Sae I sat doon
in a summer-seat that I cam' upo', and smokit my pipe and luikit at the
stars and the cluds. And I tried to sing a sang, but naething but
psalms wad come, for the nicht's sae awfu' solemn, whan ye win richt
intil the mids o' 't! It jist distresses me that there's naebody up to
worship God a' nicht in sic a nicht's this."
"Nae doobt there's mony praisin' him that we canna see."
"Ow, ay; nae doobt. But aneath this lift, and breathin' the houpfu' air
o' this divine darkness.
Pages:
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696