The men, with their hands in their trouser pockets, were lazily
smoking pigtail, in short clay pipes with tin covers fastened to
the stems by little chains, and some of the women, in short blue
petticoats and worsted stockings, doing the same.
Some stood in their doors, talking with neighbours standing in their
doors; but these were mostly the elder women: the younger ones--
all but Lizzy Findlay--were out in the road. One man half leaned,
half sat on the window sill of Duncan's former abode, and round him
were two or three more, and some women, talking about Scaurnose,
and the factor, and what the lads would do tomorrow; while the hush
of the sea on the pebbles mingled with their talk, like an unknown
tongue of the infinite--never articulating, only suggesting--
uttering in song and not in speech--dealing not with thoughts,
but with feelings and foretastes. No one listened: what to them
was the Infinite with Scaurnose in the near distance! It was now
almost as dark as it would be throughout the night if it kept as
clear.
Once more there was Duncan, standing as if looking out to sea, and
shading his brows with his hand as if to protect his eyes from the
glare of the sun, and enable his sight!
"There's the auld piper again!" said one of the group, a young
woman. "He's unco fule like to be stan'in that gait (way), makin'
as gien he cudna weel see for the sun in 's e'en.
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