The Brownie of Bodsbeck, and Other Tales (Vol. 2 of 2)

t seeing him again, that they persuaded him to go in, taste of their cheer, and relate his adventures and his trial to them; and so long was he detained in this way, that it was dark before he left Do

l, and how extravagantly delighted his excellent and generous dog Reaver would be; for he often said, "he had mair sense about him than what was a beast's good right;" but, above all, his mind dwelt most on his dear lassie Kate, as he called her. He had been informed by Dr

beloved Keatie was in conjunction, the idea had died away like a thing of the imagination, and he barely spent a thought upon it. He crossed the Meggat about eleven o'clock in the night, just as the waning moon

eggat, I fand the very nature an' the heart within me changed. A' the hills on the tae side o' the loch war as dark as pitch, an' the tither side had that ill-hued colour on't, as if they had been a' rowed in their windling sheets; an' then the shadow

oming nearer an' nearer me, keeping aye a little aboon the road till I came amaist close to it, an' then it stood stane-still an' glowred at me. What in the wide world can it be that is here at sic an untimely tim

than yoursel," quo' I,

the creature again; "o'er late on

be amang the mids o' them ere ever I ken what I'm doing." A' the stories that ever I heard about fairies in my life came linkin into my mind ane after anither, and I almaist thought I was already on my road to the Fairy-land, an' to be paid away to hell, like a kane-cock, at the end o' seven yea

an' sae fain to meet me again that he hardly kend what he was doing. I took him up in my arms an' clappit him, an' said a' the kind things to him that I could, an' O sic a wark an' fidgetting as he made! But yet I couldna help thinking there was a kind o' doufness and mellancholly in his looks. What ails ye, Reaver man? quo' I. I wish a' may be weel ab

he warld; I maun try to gie him the slip. Sae I slides aff the road, an' down a bit howe into the side o' the loch, thinking I wad get up within the brae out o' sight o' him-But aha! there was he standing straight afore me on the shore. I clamb the brae again, and sae did he. Now, thinks I, his plan is first to pit me out o' my reason, an' then wear me into the loch

our way?" said the creatu

did," an

any thing?" said t

" sa

eature. "You go no nearer

g to my ain house the night, though

o it. For your own sake, and the sakes of those that are deares

you be that's sae

iend to you, Laidlaw. Here

e, stand out o' my way; or be ye brownie or fairy-be ye ghaist, or be ye deil-in the might o'

I was doing; an' my faith it had gotten a paik! but it had mair sense than to risk it; for when it saw that I was dementit, it e'en steppit quietly aff the

it full at the thing as I past. It had nouther face nor hands, nor head nor feet; but there was it standing like a lang

same effect. I rappit an' ca'd at them a', an' named every name that was in the house when I left it, but there was nouther voice, nor light, nor sound. 'Lord have a care o' me!' said I to mysel, 'what's come o' a' my fock? Can Clavers hae been here in my absence an' taen them

ather's e'e again see sic a sight as mine saw!-There was my dear, my only daughter Katharine, sitting on the bed wi' a dead corpse on her knee, and her hands round its throat; and there was the Brownie o' Bodsbeck, the ill-faurd, runkled, withered thing, wi' its eildron form and grey beard, standin at the bed side hauding the pale corpse by the hand. It had its tither ha

Sae I thought it good, as lang as that wee master bit was sound, to make my escape, an' aff I ran, an' fell, an' fell, an' rase an' ran again. As Riskinhope was the nearest house, I fled for that, where I

oodman," quo' he

lockhead!" says I;

s Davie, "w-w-war

uaintance, Davie," quo I, "thoug

gasping for breath-"Gui-gui-guise

" quoth I, "how could I be

ok, and took haud o' his hand by force. "Uh, goodman, ye

ink, for I hae seen something o'

ver saw or heard afore, gin ye be gaun to bide here. Ye needna wonder that I thought ye war dead,-the dead are as rife here now as the living-they gang amang us, work amang us, an'

vie!" says I. "Can ye tell me

her. Your twa sons an' auld Nanny bide here; an' the honest gudewife hersel she's away to Gilmanscleuch. But oh, gudeman, there are sad things gaun on o'er

e lockit up in this breast, an' be carried to the grave wi' it. But, Davie, I'm unco ill;

done?" quo' Davie. "Think

yin' he fa's, an' sic nonsense I never heard prayed a' my life. I'll be a rogue gin he wasna speakin' to his Maker as he had been his neighbour herd; an' then

ing in the bed, and moaning to himself; and he heard him once saying, with deep sighs as if weeping,-"O my poor Keatie Laidlaw! what is to become o' her! My poor lost, misl