"Maybe I'll unnerstan' 't better nor you, bairn. Read awa'."
So admonished, Annie read. Tibbie fidgeted about on her seat. It was impossible either should understand it. And the proper names were a great puzzle to them.
"Tammy Riss!" said Tibbie; "I ken naething aboot _him_."
"Na, neither do I," said Annie; and beginning the line again, she blundered over "_blind Maeonides_."
"Ye're readin' 't wrang, bairn. It sud be '_nae ony days_,' for there's nae days or nichts either to the blin'. They dinna ken the differ, ye see."
"I'm readin' 't as I hae't," answered Annie. "It's a muckle M."
"I ken naething aboot yer muckle or yer little Ms," retorted Tibbie, with indignation. "Gin that binna what it means, it's ayont me. Read awa'. Maybe we'll come to something better."
With the words, "_Thus with the year seasons return_," Tibbie's attention grew fixed; and when the reader came to the passage,
"So much the rather thou, Celestial Light, Shine inward,"
"Ay, ay, lassie! That man kent a' aboot it! He wad never hae speired gin a blin' crater like me kent what the licht was. He kent what it was weel. Ay did he!"
"But, ye see, he was a gey auld man afore he tint his eesicht," Annie ventured to interpose.
"Sae muckle the better! He kent baith kinds. And he kent that the sicht without the een is better nor the sicht o' the een. Fowk nae doobt has baith; but I think whiles 'at the Lord gies a grainy mair o' the inside licht to mak' up for the loss o' the ootside; and weel I wat it doesna want muckle to do that."
"But ye dinna ken what it is," objected Annie, with unnecessary persistency in the truth.
"Do ye tell me that again?" returned Tibbie, harshly. "Ye'll anger me, bairn. Gin ye kent hoo I lie awauk at nicht, no able to sleep for thinkin' 'at the day _will_ come whan I'll see--wi' my ain open een--the verra face o' him that bore oor griefs an' carried oor sorrows, till I jist lie and greit, for verra wissin', ye wadna say 'at I dinna ken what the sicht o' a body's een is. Sae nae mair o' that! I beg o' ye, or I'll jist need to gang to my prayers to haud me ohn been angry wi' ane o' the Lord's bairns; for that ye _are_, I do believe, Annie Anderson. Ye canna ken what blin'ness is; but I doobt ye ken what the licht is, lassie; and, for the lave (rest), jist ye lippen (trust) to John Milton and me."