“Say? Catch them saying onything! They just gie me a wap into the gutters. If they would speak I wouldna complain, for I’m nat’rally the sociablest man in Thrums.”
“Rob, however, had spoken to you.”
“Because he had need o’ me. That was ay Rob’s way, converted or no converted. When he was blind drunk he would order me to see him safe hame, but would he crack wi’ me? Na, na.”
Wearyworld, who was so called because of his forlorn way of muttering, “It’s a weary warld, and nobody bides in’t,” as he went his melancholy rounds, sighed like one about to cry, and Gavin changed the subject.
“Is the watch for the soldiers still kept up?” he asked.
“It is, but the watchers winna let me in aside them. 33 I’ll let you see that for yoursel’ at the head o’ the Roods, for they watch there in the auld windmill.”
Most of the Thrums lights were already out, and that in the windmill disappeared as footsteps were heard.
“You’re desperate characters,” the policeman cried, but got no answer. He changed his tactics.
“A fine nicht for the time o’ year,” he cried. No answer.
“But I wouldna wonder,” he shouted, “though we had rain afore morning.” No answer.