soon oo’ll maybe hae been owre lang o’ gaun.”
They reached the church-yard,—saw that the grave was untouched, and locked themselves up securely in the session-house. It was now dark; the moon had yet an hour to remain behind the hill; and their lonely situation, the solemnity of the place,—the mournful sough of the wind among the trees, and the ghost-like appearance of the white grave-stones, as indistinctly seen from the window, inspired them with feelings of a very unearthly character.
“Bless us, bairn,” said Saunders, “what an awsome thing it is to be surrounded wi’ ⟨sae⟩ mony o’ the deed at this time o’ nicht! D’ye hear the bell creaking on it’s axle-tree ⟨aboon⟩ our heads there, an’ thae waesome voices it the wun makes amang the trees? We’re really within the shadow o’ death! A land of darkness, as darkness itself; and of the shadow of death without any order, and where the light is as darkness.’—Job Tent and Twunty-secunt. What a mercy ⟨it⟩ is I hae some bits o’ the Bible on my tongue the nicht! Can ye say ony o’t, Saundy?” “Hoot, binna sae feart, faither!” replied Saunday; “I’m no giftit wi’ ⟨scriptir⟩; but I’ll say ye a piece o’ a hymn it I hae in my memory, an’ it I think suits the occasion—
