But a dreid thing has befa'en her and me.
It's little mair nor an hoor sin syne 'at oor Isy--ye maun hae h'ard tell
o' Isy, 'at we baith had sic a fawvour for--a' at ance she jist drappit
doon deid as gien shotten wi' a gun! In fac I thoucht for a meenut, though
I h'ard nae shot, that sic had been the case. The ae moment she steed
newsin wi' her mistress i' the kitchie, and the neist she was in a heap
upo' the fleer o' 't!--But come in, come in."
"Eh, the bonnie lassie!" cried the shoemaker, without moving to enter; "I
min' upo' her weel, though I believe I never saw her but ance!--a fine,
delicat pictur o' a lassie, that luikit up at ye as gien she made ye kin'ly
welcome to onything she could gie or get for ye!"
"Aweel, as I'm tellin ye," said the farmer, "she's awa'; and we'll see her
no more till the earth gies up her deid! The wife's in there wi' what's
left o' her, greitin as gien she wad greit her een oot. Eh, but she lo'ed
her weel:--Doon she drappit, and no even a moment to say her prayers!"
"That maitters na muckle--no a hair, in fac!" returned the soutar.
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