“A'm no worthy, Drumsheugh, either o' them 'at's livin' or them 'at's dead, but Gude kens a've repentit, an' the grip o' an honest hand, an' maist o' a' yir ain, 'ill gie me hert for the days tae come.”
“Nane o's is worthy o' some of them 'at's lyin' here, Chairlie, naither you nor me, but it's no them 'at will be hardest on oor fauts. Na, na, they ken an' luve ower muckle, an' a 'm houpin' that's sae... wi' the Almichty.
“Man, Chairlie, it did me gude tae hear that ye hed played the man in Ameriky, and that ye didna forget the puir laddies o' Drumtochty. Ay, Jamie telt me afore he deed, an' prood he wes aboot ye. 'Lily's gotten her wish,' he said; 'a' kent she wud.'
“He wes sure ye wud veesit the auld Glen some day, an' wes feared there wudna be a freend tae gie ye a word. Ye wes tae slip awa tae Muirtown the nicht withoot a word, an' nane o's tae ken ye hed been here? Na, na, gin there be a cauld hearth in yir auld hame, there 's a warm corner in ma hoose for Lily's brither,” and so they went home together.
When they arrived, Saunders was finishing the last stack, and broke suddenly into speech.
“Ye thocht, Drumsheugh, we would never get that late puckle in, but here it is, safe and soond, an' a'll warrant it 'ill buke (bulk) as weel as ony in the threshin'.”
“Ye're richt, Saunders, and a bonnie stack it maks;” and then Charlie Grant went in with Drumsheugh to the warmth and the kindly light, while the darkness fell upon the empty harvest field, from which the last sheaf had been safely garnered.