"Deed maybe neyther o' 's kens muckle aboot oor ain gift either o' sicht or blin'ness.--Say onything ye like, gin ye dinna tell me, as the bairn here ance did, that I cudna ken what the licht was. I kenna what yer sicht may be, and I'm thinkin' I care as little. But weel ken I what the licht is." "Tibbie, dinna be ill-nater'd, like me. Ye hae no call to that same. I'm tryin' to answer your queston. And gin ye interrup' me again, I'll rise an' gang hame." "Say awa', Thamas. Never heed me. I'm some cankert whiles. I ken that weel eneuch." "Ye hae nae business to be cankert, Tibbie?" "Nae mair nor ither fowk." "Less, Tibbie; less, woman." "Hoo mak' ye that oot?" asked Tibbie, defensively. "Ye dinna see the things to anger ye that ither fowk sees.--As I cam' doon the street this minute, I cam' upo' twa laddies--ye ken them--they're twins--ane o' them cripple--" "Ay, that was Murdoch Malison's wark!" interposed Tibbie, with indignant reminiscence. "The man's been sorry for't this mony a day," said Thomas; "sae we maunna come ower't again, Tibbie." "Verra weel, Thamas; I s' haud my tongue. What about the laddies?" "They war fechtin' i' the verra street; ruggin' ane anither's heids, an' peggin' at ane anither's noses, an' doin' their verra endeevour to destroy the image o' the Almichty--it wasna muckle o' 't that was left to blaud. I teuk and throosh them baith." "An' what cam' o' the image o' the Almichty?" asked Tibbie, with a grotesque contortion of her mouth, and a roll of her veiled eyeballs. "I doobt, Thamas," she continued, "ye angert yersel' mair nor ye quaietit them wi' the thrashin'. The wrath o' man, ye ken, Thamas, worketh not the richtyisness o' God." There was not a person in Glamerton who would have dared to speak thus to Thomas Crann but Tibbie Dyster, perhaps because there was not one who had such a respect for him. Possibly the darkness about her made her bolder; but I think it was her truth, which is another word for _love_, however unlike love the outcome may look, that made her able to speak in this fashion. Thomas was silent for a long minute. Then he said: "Maybe ye're i' the richt, Tibbie. Ye aye anger me; but I wad raither hae a body anger me wi' tellin' me the trowth, nor I wad hae a' the fair words i' the dictionar'. It's a strange thing, wumman, but aye whan a body's tryin' maist to gang upricht he's sure to catch a dreidfu' fa'. There I hae been warstlin' wi' my ill-temper mair nor ever I did i' my life afore; and I never i' my days lickit twa laddies for lickin' ane anither till jist this verra day. And I prayed against mysel' afore I cam' oot. I canna win at the boddom o' 't."