The old man lay with
his eyes closed. As soon as he knew that he was dying he had closed his
eyes, that the dead orbs might not stare into the faces of the living.
It had been a whim of his for years. He would leave the house decent
when his lease was up. And the will kept pressing down the lids which
it would soon have no power to lift.
"Ye're come in time," said Auntie Meg, and whispered to the old
woman???-"My brither Jeames's bairn."
"Ay, ye're come in time, lassie," said the great-aunt kindly, and said
no more.
The dying man heard the words, opened his eyes, glanced once at Annie,
and closed them again.
"Is that ane o' the angels come?" he asked, for his wits were gone a
little way before.
"Na, weel I wat!" said the hard-mouthed ungracious Meg. "It's Annie
Anderson, Jeames Anderson's lass."
The old man put his hand feebly from under the bed-clothes.
"I'm glad to see ye, dawtie," he said, still without opening his eyes.
"I aye wantit to see mair o' ye, for ye're jist sic a bairn as I wad
hae likit to hae mysel' gin it had pleased the Lord. Ye're a douce,
God-fearin' lassie, and He'll tak care o' his ain."
Here his mind began to wander again.
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