Weel, Sandie hailed.
"What's yon on the Bass ?" says he.
"On the Bass ?" says grandfaither.
"Ay," says Sandie, "on the green side o't." "Whatten kind of a thing ?" says grandfaither.

"There cannae be naething on the Bass but just the sheep." "It looks unco like a body," quo' Sandie, who was nearer in.
"A body!" says we, and we nane of us likit that.

For there was nae boat that could have broucht a man, and the key o' the prison yett hung ower my faither's held at hame in the press bed.
We keept the twa boats closs for company, and crap in nearer hand.
Grandfaither had a gless, for he had been a sailor, and the captain of a smack, and had lost her on the sands of Tay.

And when we took the gless to it, sure eneuch there was a man.

He was in a crunkle o' green brae, a wee below the chaipel, a' by his lee lane, and lowped and flang and danced like a daft quean at a waddin'.
"It's Tod," says grandfaither, and passed the gless to Sandie.
"Ay, it's him," says Sandie.
"Or ane in the likeness o' him,'' says grandfaither.
"Sma' is the differ," quo' Sandie.