"It was the man I'd seen passin' the hoose. He was standin' at the gate, which, as a'body kens, is but sax steps frae the hoose, an' I wondered at 'im neither runnin' awa nor comin' forrit. I speired at 'im what he meant by terrifyin' a bairn, but he didna say naething. He juist stood. It was ower dark to see his face richt, an' I wasna nane ta'en aback yet, no till he spoke. Oh, but he had a fearsome word when he did speak. It was a kind o' like a man hoarse wi' a cauld, an' yet no that either.
"'Wha bides i' this hoose?' he said, ay standin there.
"'It's Davit Patullo's hoose,' I said, 'an' am the wife.'
"'Whaur's Hendry McQumpha?' he speired.
"'He's deid,' I said.
"He stood still for a fell while.
"'An' his wife, Jess?' he said.
"'She's deid, too,' I said.
"I thocht he gae a groan, but it may hae been the gate.
"'There was a dochter, Leeby?' he said.