‘The wull o’ God’s comin,’ insisted David. ‘But eh,’ he added, ‘I’m concernt for puir Maister Craig!’
‘Weel, lat’s awa hame and see whether the twa bena there afore ’s!—Eh, but the sicht o’ the bonny corp maun hae gien Steenie a sair hert! I wudna won’er gien he never wan ower ’t i’ this life!’
‘But what’ll we du aboot it or we gang? It’s the storm may come on again waur nor ever, and mak it impossible to beery her for a month!’
‘We cudna carry her hame atween’s, Dauvid—think ye?’
‘Na, na; it’s no as gien it was hersel! And cauld’s a fine keeper—better nor a’ the embalmin o’ the Egyptians! Only I’m fain to haud Steenie ohn seen her again!’
‘Weel, lat’s hap her i’ the bonny white snaw!’ said Marion. ‘She’ll keep there as lang as the snaw keeps, and naething ’ill disturb her till the time comes to lay her awa!’
‘That’s weel thoucht o’!’ answered David. ‘Eh, wuman, but it’s a bonny beerial compared wi’ sic as I hae aften gien comrade and foe alike!’
They went out and chose a spot close by the house where the snow lay deep. There they made a hollow, and pressed the bottom of it down hard. Then they carried out and laid in it the death-frozen dove, and heaped upon her a firm, white, marble-like tomb of heavenly new-fallen snow.
Without re-entering it, they closed the door of Steenie’s refuge, and leaving the two deserted houses side by side, made what slow haste they could, with anxious hearts, to their home. The snow was falling softly, for the wind was still asleep.