“There's ae thing mair, but a'm dootin' it's no richt o' me tae waste Grannie's siller on't, for a' wantit tae leave her somethin' wiselike;... but, O Jamie, a've taken a longin'... tae lie in Drumtochty kirkyaird wi' ma mither an' Grannie.
“A' ken it's a notion, but a' dinna like thae cemetairies wi' their gravel roadies, an' their big monuments, an' the croods o' careless fouk, an' the hooses pressin' on them frae every side.”
“A' promised Mary,” broke in Jamie, “that a' wud bring ye hame, an a 'll keep ma word, Lily; gin it be God's wull tae tak yir soul tae Himsel, yir body 'ill be laid wi' yir ain fouk,” and Jamie left hurriedly.
Next morning Sir Andrew and the minister were standing by Lily's bedside, and only looked at him when he joined them.
“Jamie,... thank ye a',... ower gude tae... a servant lass,... tell them... at hame.”
Each man bade her good-bye, and the minister said certain words which shall not be written.
“Thae... weary stairs,” and she breathed heavily for a time; then, with a sigh of relief, “A'm comin'.”
“Lily has reached the... landing,” said Sir Andrew, and as they went downstairs no man would have looked at his neighbour's face for a ransom.
“A' wrote that verra nicht tae Drumsheugh,” Jamie explained to our guard between the Junction and Kildrummie; “an a 'm no sure but he 'ill be doon himsel wi' a neebur or twa juist tae gie Lily a respectable funeral, for she hes nae man o' her bluide tae come.
“Div ye see onything, Peter?” Jamie was in a fever of anxiety; “the Kildrummie hearse stands heich, an' it sud be there, besides the mourners.”