r it's singin' 'My
Nannie's Awa'.'"

"An' what for no an angel?" returned Janet. "Isna that jist what ye
micht be singin' yersel', efter what ye was sayin' last nicht? I'm
thinkin' there maun be a heap o' yoong angels up there, new deid,
singin', 'My Nannie's Awa'.'"

"Hoot, Janet! ye ken there's naither merryin' nor giein' in merriage
there."

"Wha was sayin' onything aboot merryin' or giein' in merriage,
Robert? Is that to say 'at you an' me's to be no more to ane
anither nor ither fowk? Nor it's no to say 'at, 'cause merriage is
no the w'y o' the country, 'at there's to be naething better i' the
place o' 't."

"What garred the Maister say onything aboot it than?"

"Jist 'cause they plaguit him wi' speirin'. He wad never hae opened
his moo' anent it--it wasna ane o' his subjec's--gien it hadna been
'at a wheen pride-prankit beuk-fowk 'at didna believe there was ony
angels, or speerits o' ony kin', but said 'at a man ance deid was
aye an' a'thegither deid, an' yet preten'it to believe in God
himsel' for a' that, thoucht to bleck (nonplus) the Maister wi'
speirin' whilk o' saiven a puir body 'at had been garred merry them
a', wad be the wife o' whan they gat up again."

"A body micht think it wad be left to hersel' to say," suggested
Robert. "She had come throu' eneuch to hae some claim to be
considert."

"She maun hae been a richt guid ane," said Janet, "gien ilk ane o'
the saiven wad be wantin' her again. But I s' warran' she kenned
weel eneuch whilk o' them was her ain. But, Robert, man, this is
jokin'--no 'at it's your wyte (blame)--an' it's no becomin', I
doobt, upo' sic a sarious subjec'. An' I'm feart--ay! there!--I
thoucht as muckle!--the wee sangie's drappit itsel' a'thegither,
jist as gien the laverock had fa'ntit intil 'ts nest. I doobt we'll
hear nae mair o' 't."

As soon as he could hear what they were saying, Gibbie had stopped
to listen; and now they had stopped also, and there was an end.

For weeks he had been picking out tunes on his Pan's-pipes, also, he
had lately discovered that, although he could not articulate, he
could produce tones, and had taught himself to imitate the pipes.
Now, to his delight, he had found that the noises he made were
recognized as song by his father and mother. From that time he was
often heard crooning to himself. Before long he began to look about
the heavens for airs--to suit this or that song he came upon, or
heard from Donal.

CHAPT