And at last day did come back, gray and drear.
He saw suddenly once more. I think he must have
been wandering the glen with his eyes shut, as one
does shut them involuntarily against the hidden dangers
of black night. How different was daylight from
what he had expected! He looked, and then shut
his dazed eyes again, for the darkness was less horrible
than the day. Had he indeed seen, or only dreamed
that he saw? Once more he looked to see what the
world was like; and the sight that met his eyes was
so mournful that he who had fought through the long
night now sank hopeless and helpless among the heather.
The dog was not far away, and it, too, lost heart.
Gavin held out his hand, and Snap crept timidly toward
him. He unloosened his coat, and the dog nestled
against him, cowed and shivering, hiding its head
from the day, Thus they lay, and the rain beat upon
them.
The glen at break of day.
My first intimation that the burns were in flood came
from Waster Lunny, close on the strike of ten o’clock.
This was some minutes before they had any rain in
Thrums. I was in the school-house, now piecing
together the puzzle Lord Rintoul had left with me,
and anon starting upright as McKenzie’s hand
seemed to tighten on my arm. Waster Lunny had
been whistling to me (with his fingers in his mouth)
for some time before I heard him and hurried out.
I was surprised and pleased, knowing no better, to
be met on the threshold by a whisk of rain.
The night was not then so dark but that when I reached
the Quharity I could see the farmer take shape on
the other side of it. He wanted me to exult with
him, I thought, in the end of the drought, and I shouted
that I would fling him the stilts.
“It’s yoursel’ that wants them,”
he answered excitedly, “if you’re fleid
to be left alone in the school-house the nicht.
Do you hear me, dominie? There has been frichtsome
rain among the hills, and the Bog burn is coming down
like a sea. It has carried awa the miller’s
brig, and the steading o’ Muckle Pirley is standing
three feet in water.”
“You’re dreaming, man,” I roared
back, but beside his news he held my doubts of no
account.
“The Retery’s in flood,” he went
on, “and running wild through Hazel Wood; T’nowdunnie’s
tattie field’s out o’ sicht, and at the
Kirkton they’re fleid they’ve lost twa
kye.”
“There has been no rain here,” I stammered,
incredulously.
“It’s coming now.” he replied.
“And listen: the story’s out that
the Backbone has fallen into the loch. You had
better cross, dominie, and thole out the nicht wi’
us.”
The Backbone was a piece of mountain-side overhanging
a loch among the hills, and legend said that it would
one day fall forward and squirt all the water into
the glen. Something of the kind had happened,
but I did not believe it then; with little wit I pointed
to the shallow Quharity.
