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this lang and meny a day." Then taking her grand-niece by the band, and looking close into her face through the spectacles, she added—"Ay it is a weel-faured sonsy face, very like the mother's that bore ye; and hers was as like her mother's; and there was never as muckle common sense amang a' the three, as to keep a brock out o' the kail-yard. Ye hae an unco good master, I hear—oogh! I am glad to hear't—hoh-oh-oh-oh! verra glad. I hope it will lang continue, this kindness. Poor Tibby!—as lang as the heart disna gang wrang, we maun excuse the head, for it'll never ance gang right. I hope they were baith made for a better warld, for nane o' them were made for this."
When she got this length, she sat hastily down, and began her daily and hourly task of carding wool for her sister's spinning, abstracting herself from all external considerations.
"I think aunty's unco parabolical the day," said Tibby to her grandmother; what makes her that gate?"
"O dear, hinny, she's ay that gate now. She speaks to naebody but hersell," said Jane. "But—lownly be it spoken—I think while there's ane speaks till her again that my een canna see."
"The angels often conversed wi' good folks langsyne," said Tibby. "I ken o'
