Until once they had cleared the boundaries of the farm of Todburn, Barnaby was silent, and looked always around with a jealous eye, as if dreading a surprise. When his fellow-traveller asked the reasons of his anxiety, he remained silent; but as soon as they got fairly into the next glen he became as gay and talkative as ever. She deemed it to be some superstitious dread that discomposed him, but was left to guess the cause.
“Jeany,” said he, “you said you had a short and sound sleep last night—so had I. Pray, did you dream ony?”
“Not that I remember of; but I put no faith in dreams.”
“Weel, how different fock’s bodies, or their souls, or something about them maun be frae ane anither! For I’m come this length in the warld, an’ I never yet dreamed a regular dream, in a sound sleep, that I didna get as plainly read to me as the A B C. I had a strange dream last night, Jeany, an’ it was about you. I am sure I’ll live to see it fulfilled; but what it means even now, I canna in the least comprehend.”
“Well, Barnaby, suppose you give us it. I have read the Book of Knowledge, and may lend you a hand at the interpretation.”
“I thought I saw ye lying in a lonesome place, an’ no ane in the wide world to help or heed ye, till there was a poor bit black mootit-like corby came down frae the hills an’ fed ye. I saw it feeding ye, an’ I thought ye war as contentit, an’ as bonny, an’ as happy as ever. But ere ever I wist, down comes there a great majestic eagle some gate frae about the e’e-bree o’ the heavens, an’ cleeks ye away up to the lowne bieldy side o’ a sunny hill, where ye had a’ braw things. An’ I dinna ken how it was, I thought ye war a she eagle sitting amang your young, an’ I thought aye ye war a woman too, an’ I coudna separate the tane frae the tither; but the poor bit plottit forefoughen corby gaed alang w’ye, an’ ye war kind to him, an’ fed him in your turn, an’ I saw him hoppin, an’ pickin, an’ dabbin round about ye, as happy as ever I saw a beast, an’ the erne didna chase him away, but was kind to him; but somehow, or I wakened, I thought it was the confusedest thing I ever saw. Na, ye needna laugh nor smile, for we’ll baith live to see it read.”
“Believe me, Barnaby, it will never be apparent; you may force circumstances to agree with it, but these will not be obvious ones.”
“It’s needless for me to arguy wi’ you unless I can bring things hame to your ain conscience; but can ye say that ye never got a dream read?”
“Never that I noted; for I never thought of them.”
“Or, for instance, have ye never, when you saw a thing for the first time, had a distinct recollection of having seen it sometime afore?”