Alfred Ollivant

An old man – utterly alone – he had staked his all on a throw – and lost.

Wullie, Wullie, to me” he cried.

A few hours noo, Wullie,” the little man wailed, “and she’ll be gane. We won her, Wuklie, you and I, won her fair: she’s lit the house for us; she’s softened a’ for us – and God kens we needed; she was the ae thing we had to look to and love. And noo they’re takin’ her awa’, and ‘twill be night again. We’ve cherished her, we’ve garnished her, we’ve loved her like oor ain; and noo she maun gang to strangers who know her not.