She lived for 'Lias, but she lived for her religion too, and it seemed to her she had been sinning in her piteous talk.
'Dinna think, Davy,' she said hurriedly, 'as I'm complainin o' th' Lord's judgments.

They're aw mercies, if we did but know.

An He tempers th' wind--He sends us help when we're droppin for sorrow.
It worn't for nothin He made us all o' a piece.

Theer's good foak i' th' warld--aye, theer is! An what's moor, theer's soom o' th' best mak o' foak gooin about dressed i' th' worst mak o' clothes.
Yo'll find it out when yo want 'em.' And with a clearing face, as of one who takes up a burden again and adjusts it anew more easily, she walked back to the house.
David went down the lane homewards, whistling hard.

But once, as he climbed a stile and sat dangling his legs a moment on the top, he felt his eyes wet again.