The Howdie.

'Twas in a wee bit but-an'-ben     She bade when first I kent her,     Doon the side roadie by the kirk     Whaur Andra was precentor.     An' a' the week he keepit thrang     At's wark as village thatcher,     Whiles sairly fashed by women folk,     Wi' "Hurry up an' catch her!"     Nae books e'er ravel't Tibbie's harns,     Nae college lear had reached her,     An' a' she kent aboot her job     Her ain experience teached her.     To this cauld warld in fifty year     She'd fosh near auchteen hunner.     Losh keep's! When a' thing's said an' dune,     The cratur' was a won'er!     A' gate she'd traivelled day an' nicht,     A' kin' o' orra weather     Had seen her trampin' on the road,     Or trailin' through the heather.     But Time had set her pechin' sair,     As on his way he birled;     The body startit failin' fast     An' gettin' auld an' nirled.     An' syne, to weet the bairnie's heid     Owre muckle, whiles, they'd gie her;     But noo she's deid-ay, mony a year-     An' Andra's sleepin' wi' her.