This was what he afterwards recalled--by that time uncertain whether the whole thing had not been a dream: Catch yer naig an' pu' his tail: In his hin' heel ca' a nail; Rug his lugs frae ane anither--Stan' up, an' ca' the king yer brither.
When first he repeated them entire to himself, the old woman still muttering them, he could not help laughing, and the noise, though repressed, yet roused her.

She woke, not, like most young people, with slow gradation of consciousness, but all at once was wide awake.

She sat up in her chair.
"Was I snorin', laddie,'at ye leuch ?" she asked, in a tone of slight offence.
"Eh, na!" replied Cosmo.

"It was only 'at ye was sayin' something rale funny--i' yer sleep, ye ken--a queer jingle o' poetry it was." Therewith he repeated the rime, and Grannie burst into a merry laugh--which however sobered rather suddenly.
"I dinna won'er I was sayin' ower thae fule words," she said, "for 'deed I was dreamin' o' the only ane I ever h'ard say them, an' that was whan I was a lass--maybe aboot thirty.

Onybody nicht hae h'ard him sayin' them--ower and ower til himsel', as gien he cudna weary o' them, but naebody but mysel' seemed to hae ta'en ony notice o' the same.