She appears at the door of the kitchen with some complaint, and stands there talking to herself in a depressing murmur until she arrives at the next grievance. Whenever we hear this, which is whenever we are in the sitting-room, we amuse ourselves by chanting lines of melancholy poetry which correspond to the sentiments she seems to be uttering. It is the only way the infliction can be endured, for the sitting-room is so small we cannot keep the door closed habitually. The effect of this plan is something like the following:—
She. "The range has sic a bad draft I canna mak' the fire draw!"
We."But I'm ower auld for the tears to start,
An'sae the sighs maun blaw!"
She. "The clock i' the hall doesna strike. I have to get oot o' my bed to see the time."
We."The broken hairt it kens
Nae second spring again!"
She. "There are not eneuch jugs i' the hoose."
We."I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,—
In troth I'm like to greet!"
She. "The sink drain is na recht."
We."An' it's oh! to win awa', awa',
An' it's oh! to win awa'!"
She. "I canna thole a box-bed!"
We."Ay, waukin' O
Waukin' O an' weary.
Sleep I can get nane,
Ay waukin' O!"
