An' there I steid and luikit, till the licht itsel' deid oot, an' naething was left but a gray sky an' a feow starns intil't.

An' the cloods gethered, an' the lift grew black an' mirk; an' the haill countryside vainished, till I kent no more aboot it than what my twa feet could answer for.

An' I daurna muv for the fear o' the pits o' water an' the walleen (well-eyes--quagmire-springs) on ilka han'.

The lee-lang nicht I stood, or lay, or kneeled upo' my k-nees, cryin' to the Lord for grace.

I forgot a' aboot election, an' cried jist as gin I could gar him hear me by haudin' at him.