36 JOHN DUNCAN, WEAVER AND BOTANIST. 



that forenoon in the kitchen for " there were nae braw 

 hooses then like noo," as my informant incidentally re- 

 marked shaking the linen yarn which he had been wash- 

 ing in the burn, and which was hung on poles all round 

 the room to be dried and prepared, the toil being enlivened 

 by cheerful talk and higher discourse. His mistress, with 

 her accustomed kindliness, dropped her work by John's 

 side, to carry a warm mug of ale to a man who had been 

 hired to do some outdoor work for her husband. Speedily 

 returning, she took a seat by the fireside to rest for a 

 little, feeling somewhat faint with the continued exertion. 

 She had scarcely sat down, when John, who was busy 

 with the yarn, heard a slight cry and a sudden movement, 

 and turning quickly round, saw the good woman lying 

 in a heap on the floor. She had fainted and gently slid 

 from her seat to the ground, and the vital spark had 

 instantaneously fled. A medical weaver in the village 

 was speedily sent for, but all without avail she never 

 breathed again, having died of heart disease. The shock 

 was severe on the solitary witness. Her death sent a 

 thrill through the village, as sudden death always does 

 in a community where all belong as it were to one family ; 

 for that was then, and still is viewed illogically, of course, 

 but all the more deeply from its mystery as a special 

 warning from Deity, as if God were not as present in the 

 silent procession of life as in the catastrophe. To John, 

 her death was more than that of a kind mistress and good 

 woman : it was the loss of a mother, teacher, and intelligent 

 friend, and the quenching of the firelight of his domestic life. 

 After this, the relations between Pirie and John became 

 daily more aggravated, and the cruelty he suffered was 



