midday
At seven in the morning , had any one been able to see across the street for the driving snow , he would have seen David Grier look out for a moment in his trousers and shirt , take one comprehensive glance , and vanish within . That glance had settled David 's church attendance for the day . He was an `` Auld Kirk , '' and a very regular hearer , having been thirty years in the service of the laird ; but in the moment that he looked out into the dim white chaos of whirling snow , David had settled it that there would be no carriage down from the `` Big House '' that day . `` The drifts will be sax fit in the howes o ' the muir-road , '' he said , as he settled himself to sleep till midday , with a solid consciousness that he had that day done all that the most exacting could require of him . As his thoughts composed themselves to a continuation of his doze , while remaining deliciously conscious of the wild turmoil outside , David Grier remembered the wayfarer who had got a lift in his cart to Cauldshields the night before . `` It was weel for the bit bairn that I fell in wi ' her at the Cross Roads , '' said he , as he stirred his wife in the ribs with his elbow , to tell her it was time to get up and make the fire . * * * * * In the manse of Cauldshields the Reverend Eli M'Diarmid 's housekeeper was getting him ready for church .