Note 9 — MY FATHER’S MEMOIR. A LETTER TO JOHN CAIRNS, D. D.

A year ago, I found an elderly countrywoman, a widow, waiting for me. Rising up, she said, “D’ye mind me?” I looked at her, but could get nothing from her face; but the voice remained in my ear, as if coming from “the fields of sleep,” and I said by a sort of instinct, “Tibbie Meek!” I had not seen her or heard her voice for more than forty years. She had come to get some medical advice. Voices are often like the smells of flowers and leaves, the tastes of wild fruits—they touch and awaken memory in a strange way. “Tibbie” is now living at Thankerton. Return