We had a
grand take, I mind, and the way that the fish lay broucht us near
in by the Bass, whaur we foregaithered wi' anither boat that
belanged to a man Sandie Fletcher in Castleton. He's no lang deid
neither, or ye could speir at himsel'. Weel, Sandie hailed.
"What's yon on the Bass?" says he.
"On the Bass?" says grandfaither.
"Ay," says Sandie, "on the green side o't."
"Whatten kind of a thing?" says grandfaither. "There cannae be
naething on the Bass but just the sheep."
"It looks unco like a body," quo' Sandie, who was nearer in.
"A body!" says we, and we none of us likit that. For there was nae
boat that could have brought a man, and the key o' the prison yett
hung ower my faither's at hame in the press bed.
We keept the twa boats close for company, and crap in nearer hand.
Grandfaither had a gless, for he had been a sailor, and the captain
of a smack, and had lost her on the sands of Tay. And when we took
the glass to it, sure eneuch there was a man. He was in a crunkle
o' green brae, a wee below the chaipel, a' by his lee lane, and
lowped and flang and danced like a daft quean at a waddin'.
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