“Does the sunset of life give us mystical lore?
Do coming events cast their shadows before?”
Chapter Seven.
The Death of Poor Nancy.
“I’m wearin’ awa’, Jean,
Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, Jean;
I’m wearin’ awa’
To the Land o’ the Leal.”
Old Song.
Scene: Kenneth at home in his mother’s humble cot. A fire of peats and wood burning on the low hearth. Kenneth’s mother reading the good Book with spectacles on her eyes. Kenneth leading also at the other side of the fire. Above the mantelpiece a black iron oil lamp is burning, with old-fashioned wicks made from peeled and dried rushes. Between the pair, his head on his paws, Kooran is lying. He is asleep, and probably dreaming of the sheep that he cannot get to enter the “fauld,” for he is emitting little sharp cheeping barks, as dogs often do when they dream.
Kenneth gets up at last and reaches down his plaid and crook.
“Dear laddie,” says his mother, “you’re surely not going out to-night!”