The Entail; or, The Lairds of Grippy
'That's 'cause ye canna help it,' replied James boldly, 'for he's dead--he's in a soun' soun' sleep--nobody but an angel wi' the last trumpet at his vera lug is able to waken him--and Mary and me, and mamma--we're a' gaun to lie down and die too, for there's nobody now in the world that cares for us.'