I'm thinkin' yon maun be some wee angel come doon to say, 'I ken ye, puir fowk.'" Robert, scarce daring to draw his breath listened with his heart in his mouth.

From somewhere, apparently within the four walls of the cottage, came a low lovely sweet song--something like the piping of a big bird, something like a small human voice.
"It canna be an angel," said Robert at length, "for it's singin' 'My Nannie's Awa'.'" "An' what for no an angel ?" returned Janet.

"Isna that jist what ye micht be singin' yersel', efter what ye was sayin' last nicht?
I'm thinkin' there maun be a heap o' yoong angels up there, new deid, singin', 'My Nannie's Awa'.'" "Hoot, Janet! ye ken there's naither merryin' nor giein' in merriage there." "Wha was sayin' onything aboot merryin' or giein' in merriage, Robert?
Is that to say 'at you an' me's to be no more to ane anither nor ither fowk?
Nor it's no to say 'at, 'cause merriage is no the w'y o' the country, 'at there's to be naething better i' the place o' 't." "What garred the Maister say onything aboot it than ?" "Jist 'cause they plaguit him wi' speirin'.

He wad never hae opened his moo' anent it--it wasna ane o' his subjec's--gien it hadna been 'at a wheen pride-prankit beuk-fowk 'at didna believe there was ony angels, or speerits o' ony kin', but said 'at a man ance deid was aye an' a'thegither deid, an' yet preten'it to believe in God himsel' for a' that, thoucht to bleck (nonplus) the Maister wi' speirin' whilk o' saiven a puir body 'at had been garred merry them a', wad be the wife o' whan they gat up again." "A body micht think it wad be left to hersel' to say," suggested Robert.

"She had come throu' eneuch to hae some claim to be considert." "She maun hae been a richt guid ane," said Janet, "gien ilk ane o' the saiven wad be wantin' her again.