Haggart took him by the arm.
'Rob, man, Rob Angus,' he said, 'she was but fower year auld.'
The stone-breaker unbuttoned his trouser pocket, and with an unsteady hand drew out his snuff-mull. Rob tried to take it, but his arm trembled, and the mull fell among the heather.
'Keep yourselves from idols,' said Lang Tammas sternly.
But the minister was young, and children lisped his name at the white manse among the trees at home. He took the shoe from the saw-miller who had once been independent, and they went down the hill together.
Davy lay dead at the edge of the burn that gurgles on to the saw-mill, one little foot washed by the stream. The Whunny had rocked her to sleep for the last time. Half covered with grass, her baby-fist still clutched the letter. When Rob saw her, he took his darling dead bairn in his arms and faced the others with cracking jaws.
'I dinna ken,' said Tammas Haggart, after a pause, 'but what it's kind o' nat'ral.'