'I spoke to the minister aboot it,' Tammas answered, under the impression that Silva was still there, 'an' speired at him if he had sent a line aboot Rob to the London yeditors, but he wudna say.'
Tammas moved his head round, and saw that he was alone.
'No,' he continued thoughtfully, addressing the tombstones, 'he would neither say 'at he did nor 'at he didna. He juist waved his han' like, to lat's see 'at he was at the bottom o't, but didna want it to be spoken o'. Ay, ay.'
Tammas hobbled thoughtfully down one of the steep burying-ground walks, until he came to a piece of sward with no tombstone at its head.
'Ay,' he said, 'there's mony an Angus lies buried there, an' Rob's the only are left noo. I hae helpit to hap the earth ower five, ay, sax o' them. It's no to be expeckit, no, i' the course o' natur' it's no to be expeckit, 'at I should last oot the seventh: no, but there's nae sayin'. Ay, Rob, ye wasna sae fu' o' speerits as I'll waurant ye are the noo, that day ye buried Davy. Losh, losh, it's a queer warld.'
'It's a pretty spot to be buried in,' he muttered, after a time; and then his eyes wandered to another part of the burying-ground.
'Ay,' he said, with a chuckle, 'but I've a snod bit cornery up there for mysel. Ou ay.'
THE END
Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press