"So you must be up, and be as bright as you can.
So take a good long sleep, and you'll feel ever so much better in the
morning. Mrs. Ramsay will see you all right," and he was off before
Mysie realized he was going.
It was all so strange for Mysie. She was lost in wonder at it all, as
she sat quietly pondering the matter while Mrs. Ramsay washed the dishes
and cleared the table. The noises outside; the glare of the street,
lamps, the tier upon tier of houses, piled on top of each other, as she
looked from the window at the tall buildings, and the Castle Rock, grim
and gray, looking down in silence upon the whole city, but added to
Mysie's confusion of mind.
Shouts from a drunken brawl ascended from the street; the curses of the
men, and the screams of women, were plainly audible; while over all a
woman's voice, further down the street, broke into a bonnie old Scots
air which Mysie knew, and she could not help feeling that this was the
most beautiful thing she had heard so far.
The voice was clear, and to Mysie very sweet, but it was the words that
set her heart awandering among her own moors and heather hills.
Ca' the yowes tae the knowes,
Ca' them where the heather grows,
Ca' them where the burnie rows,
My kind dearie, O!
This was always the song her father sang, if on a Saturday night he had
been taking a glass.
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