ed up the river. The cottage stood on a
small rocky eminence at the foot of the bridge. Underneath the approach
to it from the bridge, the dyer's mill-race ran by a passage cut in the
rock, leading to the third arch of the bridge built over the Glamour.
Towards the river, the rock went down steep to the little meadow. It
was a triangular piece of smooth grass growing on the old bed of the
river, which for many years had been leaving this side, and wearing
away the opposite bank. It lay between the river, the dyer's race, and
the bridge, one of the stone piers of which rose from it. The grass
which grew upon it was short, thick, and delicate. On the opposite side
of the river lay a field for bleaching the linen, which was the chief
manufacture of that country. Hence it enjoyed the privilege of immunity
from the ploughshare. None of its daisies ever met the fate of Burn's

"Wee, modest, crimson-tippit flower."

But indeed so constantly was the grass mown to keep it short, that
there was scarcely a daisy to be seen in it, the long broad lines of
white linen usurping their place, and in their stead keeping up the
contrast of white and green. Around Tibbie and Annie however the
daisies were shining back to the sun, confidently, with their hearts of
gold and their rays of silver. And the butter-cups were all of gold;
and the queen-of-the-meadow, which grew tall at the water-side,
perfumed the whole region with her crown of silvery blossom. Tibbie's
blind face was turned towards the sun; and her hands were busy as ants
with her knitting needles, for she was making a pair of worsted
stockings for Annie against the winter. No one could fit stockings so
well as Tibbie.

"Wha's that comin', lassie?" she asked.

Annie, who had heard no one, glanced round, and, rising, said,

"It's Thomas Crann."

"That's no Thomas Crann," rejoined Tibbie. "I dinna hear the host
(cough) o' 'im."

Thomas came up, pale and limping a little.

"That's no Thomas Crann?" repeated Tibbie, before he had time to
address her.

"What for no, Tibbie?" returned Thomas.

"'Cause I canna hear yer breath, Thamas."

"That's a sign that I hae the mair o' 't, Tibbie. I'm sae muckle better
o' that ashma, that I think whiles the Lord maun hae blawn into my
nostrils anither breath o' that life that he breathed first into Edam
an' Eve."

"I'm richt glaid to hear't, Thamas. Breath maun come frae him ae gait
or ither."

"Nae doobt, Tibbie."

"Will ye