"Ye'll anger me, bairn.

Gin ye kent hoo I lie awauk at nicht, no able to sleep for thinkin' 'at the day _will_ come whan I'll see--wi' my ain open een--the verra face o' him that bore oor griefs an' carried oor sorrows, till I jist lie and greit, for verra wissin', ye wadna say 'at I dinna ken what the sicht o' a body's een is.

Sae nae mair o' that! I beg o' ye, or I'll jist need to gang to my prayers to haud me ohn been angry wi' ane o' the Lord's bairns; for that ye _are_, I do believe, Annie Anderson.

Ye canna ken what blin'ness is; but I doobt ye ken what the licht is, lassie; and, for the lave (rest), jist ye lippen (trust) to John Milton and me." Annie dared not say another word.

She sat silent--perhaps rebuked.