Watty looked out wildly from among the wool of the great-coat he had on and from beneath the fur of his peaked cap with quite an agonised expression.
“She isna choking her?”
“No, I told you I would not.”
“The sun winna coom oop at a’?”
“No, not at all for eighteen weeks. It will be all night.”
“Then ta wairld’s going to be at an eend?”
“Nonsense! No.”
“Then the sun’s coing oot?”
“Not a bit of it.”
“Then whar she coing to?”