Whan the coo loups ower the mune,
The reid gowd rains intil men’s shune.
And in after-life he thought not unfrequently of this odd vision he had had. Often, when, having imagined he had solved some difficulty of faith or action, presently the same would return in a new shape, as if it had but taken the time necessary to change its garment, he would say to himself with a sigh, “The coo’s no ower the mune yet!” and set himself afresh to the task of shaping a handle on the infinite small enough for a finite to lay hold of. Grizzie, who was out looking for him, heard the roar of his laughter, and, guided by the sound, spied him where he lay. He heard her footsteps, but never stirred till he saw her looking down upon him like a benevolent gnome that had found a friendless mortal asleep on ground of danger.
“Eh, Cosmo, laddie, ye’ll get yer deid o’ caul’!” she cried. “An’ preserve ’s a’! what set ye lauchin’ in sic a fearsome fashion as yon? Ye’re surely no fey!”
“Na, I’m no fey, Grizzie! Ye wad hae lauchen yersel’ to see Jeames Gracie’s coo wi’ the mune atween the hin’ an’ the fore legs o’ her. It was terrible funny.”
“Hoots! I see naething to lauch at i’ that. The puir coo cudna help whaur the mune wad gang. The haivenly boadies is no to be restricket.”
Again Cosmo burst into a great laugh, and this time Grizzie, seriously alarmed lest he should be in reality fey, grew angry, and seizing hold of him by the arm, pulled lustily.
“Get up, I tell ye!” she cried. “Here’s the laird speirin’ what’s come o’ ye, ’at ye come na hame to yer tay.”
But Cosmo instead of rising only laughed the more, and went on until at length Grizzie made use of a terrible threat.
“As sure ’s sowens!” she said, “gien ye dinna haud yer tongue wi’ that menseless-like lauchin’, I’ll no tell ye anither auld-warld tale afore Marti’mas.”
“Will ye tell me ane the nicht gien I haud my tongue an’ gang hame wi’ ye?”