“His v’ice was like the soon’ o’ mony watters,” she said to herself softly, as the liquid thunder of the torrent came in the louder.
Gibbie shot round the corner to the byre, whence through all the roar, every now and then they had heard the cavernous mooing of Crummie, piteous and low. He found a stream a foot deep running between her fore and hind legs, and did not wonder that she wanted to be on the move. Speedily he loosed her, and fastening the chain-tether to her halter, led her out. She was terrified at sight of the falling water, and they had some trouble in getting her through behind it, but presently after, she was making the descent as carefully and successfully as any of them.
It was a heavy undertaking for the two old folk to walk all the way to the Mains, and in such a state of the elements; but where there is no choice, we do well to make no difficulty. Janet was half troubled that her mountain, and her foundation on the rock, should have failed her; but consoled herself that they were but shadows of heavenly things and figures of the true; and that a mountain or a rock was in itself no more to be trusted than a horse or a prince or the legs of a man. Robert plodded on in contented silence, and Gibbie was in great glee, singing, after his fashion, all the way, though now and then half-choked by the fierceness of the wind round some corner of rock, filled with rain-drops that stung like hailstones.
By and by Janet stopped and began looking about her. This naturally seemed to her husband rather odd in the circumstances.
“What are ye efter, Janet?” he said, shouting through the wind from a few yards off, by no means sorry to stand for a moment, although any recovering of his breath seemed almost hopeless in such a tempest.
“I want to lay my umbrell in safity,” answered Janet, “—gien I cud but perceive a shuitable spot. Ye was richt, Robert, it’s mair w’alth nor I can get the guid o’.”
“Hoots! fling ’t frae ye, than, lass,” he returned. “Is this a day to be thinkin’ o’ warl’s gear?”
“What for no, Robert?” she rejoined. “Ae day’s as guid ’s anither for thinkin’ aboot onything the richt gait.”
“What!” retorted Robert, “—whan we hae ta’en oor lives in oor han’, an’ can no more than houp we may cairry them throu’ safe!”
“What’s that ’at ye ca’ oor lives, Robert? The Maister never made muckle o’ the savin’ o’ sic like ’s them. It seems to me they’re naething but a kin’ o’ warl’s gear themsel’s.”