They caught some disjointed words,--'cold--ay, t' neet's cold, varra cold!' ''Lias!' shouted David.
'Lias looked up startled, and shook his head feebly.
'Are yo bad, 'Lias ?' 'Ay!' said the old schoolmaster, in the voice of one speaking through a dream--'ay, varra bad, varra cold--I mun--lig me down--a bit.' And he rose feebly.

David instinctively caught hold of him, and led him to a corner close by in the ruined walls, where the heather and bilberry grew thick up to the stones.

'Lias sank down, his head fell against the wall, and a light and restless sleep seemed to take possession of him.
David stood studying him, his hands in his pockets.

Never in all his experience of him had 'Lias gone through such a performance as this.

What on earth did it mean?
There was more in it than appeared, clearly.