In the meantime Steenie had been growing restless. Coming wind often affected him so. He had been out with his father, who expected a storm, to see that all was snug about byres and stables, and feed the few sheep in an outhouse; now he had come in, and was wandering about the house, when his mother prevailed on him to sit down by the fireside with her. The clouds had gathered thick, and the afternoon was very dark, but all was as yet still. He called his dog, and Snootie lay down at his feet, ready for what might come. Steenie sat on a stool, with his head on his mother’s knee, and for a while seemed lost in thought. Then, without moving or looking up, he said, as if thinking aloud,-- ‘It maun be fine fun up there amang thae cloods afore the flauks begin to spread!’ ‘What mean ye by that, Steenie, my man?’ asked his mother. ‘They maun be packit sae close, sae unco close i’ their muckle pocks, like the feathers in a feather-bed! and syne, whan they lat them a’ oot thegither, like haudin the bed i’ their twa han’s by the boddom corners, they maun be smorin thick till they begin to spread!’ ‘And wha think ye shaks oot the muckle pocks, Steenie?’ ‘I dinna ken. I hae aften thoucht aboot it. I dinna think it’s likly to be the angels. It’s mair like wark for the bairnies up yoner at the muckle ferm at hame, whaur ilk ane, to the littlest littlin, kens what he’s aboot, and no ane o’ them’s like some o’ ’s doon here, ’at gangs a’ day in a dream, and canna get oorsels waukent oot o’ ’t. I wud be surer but that I hae thoucht whiles I saw the muckle angels themsels gaein aboot, throu and throu the ondingin flauchter o’ the snaw--no mony o’ them, ye ken, but jist whiles ane and whiles anither, throu amo’ the cauld feathers, gaein aye straught wi’ their heids up, walkin comfortable, as gien they war at hame in’t. I’m thinkin at sic a time they’ll be efter helpin some puir body ’at the snaw’s like to be ower muckle for. Eh me! gien I cud but get rid o’ my feet, and win up to see!’ ‘What for yer feet, Steenie? What ails ye aye at yer feet? Feet’s gey usefu’ kin o’ thing’s to craturs, whether gien them in fours or twas!’ ‘Ay, but mine’s sic a weicht! It’s them ’at’s aye haudin me doon! I wad hae been up and awa lang syne gien it hadna been for them!’ ‘And what wud hae been comin o’ hiz wantin ye, Steenie?’ ‘Ye wad be duin sae weel wantin me, ’at ye wud be aye wantin to be up and efter me! A body’s feet’s nae doobt usefu to haud a body steady, and ohn gane blawin aboot, but eh, they’re unco cummarsum! But syne they’re unco guid tu to haud a body ohn thoucht owre muckle o’ himsel! They’re fine heumblin things, a body’s feet! But, eh, it’ll be fine wantin them!’ ‘Whaur on earth gat ye sic notions aboot yer feet? Guid kens there’s naething amiss wi’ yer feet! Nouther o’ ye hes ony rizzon to be ashamit o’ yer feet. The fac is, _your_ feet’s by ordinar sma’, Steenie, and can add but unco little to yer weicht!’