The snow lay deep and powdery with frost, and the struggle with space from a bad footing on the world had brought the blood to his cheeks and the sparkle to his eyes.

He found Grannie sitting up in bed, and Aggie getting her tea--to which Cosmo contributed a bottle of milk he had carried her--an article rare enough in the winter when there was so little grass for the cows.

Aggie drew the old woman's chair to the fire for him, and he sat down and ate barley-meal scons, and drank tea with them.
Grannie was a little better than usual, for every disease has its inconsistencies, and pain will abate before an access; and so, with storm at hand, threaded with fiery flying serpents for her bones, she was talking more than for days previous.

Her voice came feebly from the bed to Cosmo's ears, while he leaned back in her great chair, and Aggie was removing the tea-things.
"Did ye ever dream ony mair aboot the auld captain, Cosmo ?" she asked: from her tone he could not tell whether she spoke seriously, or was amusing herself with the idea.
"No ance," he answered.

"What gars ye speir, Grannie ?" She said nothing for a few minutes, and Cosmo thought she had dismissed the subject.