They would be out for hours together, perhaps not far from home all the time--on the top of a hill it might be, whence Cosmo could see when he would the castle below.
There, the whole sleepy afternoon, he would lie in the heather, with Linty, the mare, feeding amongst it, ready to come at his call, receive him on her back, and carry him where he would! But alas! though supple and active, Linty was old, and the day could not be distant when they must part company: she was then nine and twenty.

And now--the night before, she had been taken ill: there was a disease about amongst the horses.

The men had been up with her all night, and Grizzie too: she had fetched her own pillow and put under her head, then sat by it for hours.

When Cosmo left, she was a little better, but great fears were entertained as to the possibility of her recovery.
"She's sae terrible aul'! ye see, sir," said Cosmo, as he ended his tale of woe, and burst out crying afresh.
"Cosmo," said Mr.Simon,--and to a southern ear the issuing of such sweet solemn thoughts in such rough northern speech, might have seemed strange, though, to be sure, the vowels were finely sonorous if the consonants were harsh,--"Cosmo, your heart is faithful to your mare, but is it equally faithful to him that made your mare ?" "I ken it's his wull," answered Cosmo:--his master never took notice whether he spoke in broad Scotch or bastard English--"I ken mears maun dee, but eh! SHE was sic a guid ane!--Sir! I canna bide it." "Ye ken wha sits by the deein' sparrow ?" said Mr.Simon, himself taking to the dialect.

"Cosmo there was a better nor Grizzie, an' nearer to Linty a' the lang nicht.