nker's gairden, an' fizzin' in amon' the pipes o' the
water barrels. It's shurely an awfu' nicht o' wind."

Juist at this meenit you wudda thocht the very deevil himsel' had
gotten grips o' the frame o' oor winda. He garred it rattle like the
thunder at Hewy White's theatre; then he yawled, an' hooed, an' growled
like five hunder cats an' as mony dogs wirryin' them, an' a' the fowk
'at echt them fechtin' at the same time. This feenisht up wi' a
terrific yawl; an' Sandy dived doon in ablo the claes.

"Ye fear'd nowt," says I, "what are ye fleein' awa' doon there for?
Ye'll hae my feet sterved to death wi' cauld. Lie up on your pillow
an' lat the claes doon to the fit o' the bed."

For a hale strucken 'oor this gaed on, an' sometimes I akwilly thocht I
fand the bed shakin'. Oor birdie (he hings at the winda) began to
wheek-wheek wi' fear, an I wanted Sandy to rise an' tak' the puir
cratur doon.

"The feint a-fear o' me," says he, the hertless skemp 'at he is. "If
you want the canary i' the bed aside you, you can rise an' tak' him
doon yersel'."

I raise an' took the puir craturie doon, an' hang him up on the ither
side o' the room; an,' mind ye, ye wud raley thocht the bit beastie
kent, for it gae a coodie bit cheep or twa, an juist cooered doon to
sleep again. Juist as I was gaen awa' to screw doon the gas, it gae
twa or three lowps, an' oot it gaed; an' afore I kent whaur I was,
there was a reeshilin' an' rummelin' on the ruif that wudda nearhand
fleggit the very fowk i' the kirkyaird. I floo to my bed, an' in aneth
the claes, an' lay for a meenit or so expectin' the cuples wud be doon
on the tap o's, an' bruze baith o's to pooder. Efter the rummelin'
haltit, I fand aboot wi' my fit for Sandy; but he wasna there.

"Preserve's a'," says I, heich oot, "whaur are ye, Sandy? Are ye
there? What's come ower ye? Are ye deid?"

"I'm here, Bawbie," says a shiverin' voice in aneth the bed. "I'm
here, Bawbie. Ye'll hear Gabriel's tuter juist i' the noo. O, Bawbie,
I've been a nesty footer o' a man, an' ill-gettit scoot a' my days. I
wiss I cud juist get hauds o' the Bible on the drawers-heid, Bawbie.
Did ye hear the mountins an' the rocks beginnin' to fa'?"

"Come awa' 'oot ablo there, Sandy," I says, says I, "an' no' get your
death o' cauld, an' be gaen aboot deavin fowk wi' you an' your reums.
The mountins an' rocks is the brick an' lum-cans aff Mistress
Mollison's hoose, I'm thinkin'." An' I cudna help