She had indued her feet with goloshes and pinned up her skirts till they looked like some demented Paris mode.

An ancient bonnet was tied under her chin with strings, and her equipment was completed by an exceedingly smart tortoise-shell-handled umbrella, which, she explained, had been a Christmas present from her son.
"I'll convoy ye as far as the Laverfoot herd's," she announced.

"The wife's a freend o' mine and will set me a bit on the road back.

Ye needna fash for me.

I'm used to a' weathers." The rain had declined to a fine drizzle, but a tearing wind from the south-west scoured the land.