“Half blin’ wi’ the nicht an’ the snaw an’ his ain tears, he cam at last to the door o’ the sheep-cot. An’ what sud he see there but a man stan’in’ afore the door—straucht up, an’ still i’ the mirk! It was ’maist fearsome to see onybody there—sae far frae ony place—no to say upo’ sic a nicht! The stranger was robed in some kin’ o’ a plaid, like the gude-man himsel’, but whether a lowlan’ or a hielan’ plaid, he cudna tell. But the face o’ the man—that was ane no to be forgotten—an’ that for the verra freenliness o’ ’t! An’ whan he spak, it was as gien a’ the v’ices o’ them ’at had gane afore, war mad up intil ane, for the sweetness an’ the pooer o’ the same.
“‘What mak ye here in sic a storm, man?’ he said. An’ the soon’ o’ his v’ice was aye safter nor the words o’ his mooth.
“‘I come for a lamb,’ answered he.
“‘What kin’ o’ a lamb?’ askit the stranger.
“‘The verra best I can lay my han’s upo’ i’ the cot,’ answered he, ‘for it’s to lay afore my freens and neebours. I houp, sir, ye’ll come hame wi’ me an’ share o’ ’t. Ye s’ be welcome.’
“‘Du yer sheep mak ony resistance whan ye tak the lamb? or whan it’s gane, du they mak an ootcry?’
“‘No, sir—never.’
“The stranger gae a kin’ o’ a sigh, an’ says he,
“‘That’s no hoo they trait me! Whan I gang to my sheep-fold, an’ tak the best an’ the fittest, my ears are deavt an’ my hert torn wi’ the clamours—the bleatin’, an’ ba’in’ o’ my sheep—my ain sheep! compleenin’ sair agen me;—an’ me feedin’ them, an’ cleedin’ them, an’ haudin’ the tod frae them, a’ their lives, frae the first to the last! It’s some oongratefu’, an’ some sair to bide.’
“By this time the man’s heid was hingin’ doon; but whan the v’ice ceased, he luikit up in amaze. The stranger was na there. Like ane in a dream wharvin he kenned na joy frae sorrow, or pleesur frae pain, the man gaed into the cot, an’ grat ower the heids o’ the ’oo’y craters ’at cam croodin’ aboot ’im; but he soucht the best lamb nane the less, an’ cairriet it wi’ ’im. An’ the next day he cam hame frae the funeral wi’ a smile upo’ the face whaur had been nane for mony a lang; an’ the neist Sunday they h’ard him singin’ i’ the kirk as naebody had ever h’ard him sing afore. An’ never frae that time was there a moan or complaint to be h’ard frae the lips o’ aither o’ the twa. They hadna a bairn to close their e’en whan their turn sud come, but whaur there’s nane ahin’, there’s the mair to fin’.”