'But, goodness me, my good man, who wants to take a coffin down there?'
'Oh Lord! naebody that I ken o', Maister Weelum—no, no, naebody I ken o'. But yin's never sure. As Betty often says, "oor days are as gress"—imphm! We drap awa' like the leaves in the back-end, Maister Weelum—ay, juist like leaves nippit wi' the frost. An', speakin' o' leaves, I was workin' amang leaf-mould the day; an', dod, sir, it's a queer thing, but, d'ye ken, whenever I handle that stuff I begin to think aboot kirkyairds. Isn't that a queer thing noo, Maister Weelum?' and he puffed at his pipe without drawing smoke.
My lamp was burning low. Rain was pattering on the darkened window-panes, and the soughing wind at irregular intervals drove clouds of smoke down my chimney. Shadows from the lime-tree danced on the whitewashed walls, taking to themselves grotesque fantastic shapes; and Nathan—gaunt, wispy-bearded, spectral Nathan—puffed, and sighed, and spat in the semi-darkness. From the kitchen downstairs came to me at times sounds of a conversation carried on in a dull monotone, and interspersed with half-suppressed distressing sobs. A queer, creepy sensation began to take hold of me. I drew my blankets tighter round me and settled my pillow a little higher.
CHAPTER VII.
Nathan noted my movements. 'Can I help ye, Maister Weelum, or is there ocht I can do to mak' ye comfortable? Betty'll no' be lang till she's wi' ye. She's busy the noo, an' she sent me up to keep ye cheery till her wark was dune.'
I looked at him and saw he was quite serious, so I concluded that, decent, well-meaning man though he was, he was no humorist.
'Ay, Nathan,' I said, after I had thought over the situation, 'I have no doubt your intentions are all right. Invalids ought to be kept cheery, as you call it; but'——
'Ye admit, then, that ye are an invalid, Maister Weelum?'
'Well, Nathan, I'm afraid I must admit that.'