sit doon asides's, Thamas? It's lang sin' I hae seen ye."

Tibbie always spoke of _seeing_ people.

"Ay will I, Tibbie. I haena muckle upo' my han's jist the day. Ye see I
haena won richt into my wark again yet."

"Annie an' me 's jist been haeing a crack thegither aboot this thing
an' that thing, Thamas," said Tibbie, dropping her knitting on her
knees, and folding her palms together. "Maybe _ye_ could tell me
whether there be ony likeness atween the licht that I canna see and
that soun' o' the water rinnin', aye rinnin', that I like sae weel to
hear."

For it did not need the gentle warm wind, floating rather than blowing
down the river that afternoon, to bring to their ears the sound of the
_entick_, or dam built across the river, to send the water to the
dyer's wheel; for that sound was in Tibbie's cottage day and night,
mingled with the nearer, gentler, and stronger gurgling of the swift,
deep, _deedie_ water in the race, that hurried, aware of its work, with
small noise and much soft-sliding force towards the wheel.

"Weel, ye see, Tibbie," answered Thomas, "it's nearhan' as ill for the
like o' us to unnerstan' your blin'ness as it may be for you to
unnerstan' oor sicht."

"Deed maybe neyther o' 's kens muckle aboot oor ain gift either o'
sicht or blin'ness.--Say onything ye like, gin ye dinna tell me, as the
bairn here ance did, that I cudna ken what the licht was. I kenna what
yer sicht may be, and I'm thinkin' I care as little. But weel ken I
what the licht is."

"Tibbie, dinna be ill-nater'd, like me. Ye hae no call to that same.
I'm tryin' to answer your queston. And gin ye interrup' me again, I'll
rise an' gang hame."

"Say awa', Thamas. Never heed me. I'm some cankert whiles. I ken that
weel eneuch."

"Ye hae nae business to be cankert, Tibbie?"

"Nae mair nor ither fowk."

"Less, Tibbie; less, woman."

"Hoo mak' ye that oot?" asked Tibbie, defensively.

"Ye dinna see the things to anger ye that ither fowk sees.--As I cam'
doon the street this minute, I cam' upo' twa laddies--ye ken
them--they're twins--ane o' them cripple--"

"Ay, that was Murdoch Malison's wark!" interposed Tibbie, with
indignant reminiscence.

"The man's been sorry for't this mony a day," said Thomas; "sae we
maunna come ower't again, Tibbie."

"Verra weel, Thamas; I s' haud my tongue. What about the laddies?"

"They war fechtin' i' the verra street; ruggin' ane anither's heids,
an' peggin' at ane anither's noses,