less time than it tak's tae tell ye. Fat are ye gickerin' at, lassies!" The fact is, the expression of mine host was so fierce, and his actions so animated and comical, that the whole assemblage burst out into a loud, uncontrollable fit of laughter, during which he walked to the still blazing ingle, laid down his staff in its accustomed place, seated himself in his arm-chair, and, covering his face with his handkerchief, laughed as long and heartily as any of them. "Esther!" at last cried our host, uncovering his face once more, "Esther, put on the kettle again, my lassie; we maun hae an eik afore Maister Robertson tak's the road to Kinnettles; it's no every nicht he honours us wi' his company." Then, lowering his voice to a whisper, and looking straight in the Dominie's face, he inquiringly said, "You seem to doubt the narration o' this nicht's adventures?" "A mere phenomenon of nature," loudly and scornfully replied the Dominie. "Phenominum o' natur' or no, Maister Robertson," rejoined mine host, in a still louder voice, "tak' care as ye gae hame to Kinnettles the nicht that nae 'keemeera' or 'phenominum,' as ye ca' them, disna turn up your heels in a way ye wot not of." Then, turning with a couthy look to his wife, to whom he was much attached, and by way of changing the current of the conversation, he sang with great feeling and tenderness : My bounie wee wifie, in life's early morn, When sweet as the linnet that sings on the thorn, And aye it grew sweeter, like song of the thrush, Till in my nights' dreaming, like lark poised on high, H Alas! in proportion the farther you flew, My heart the more lonely, more desolate grew. So, from a heart broken, the voice of true love My bonnie wee wifie, long, long thou hast lain "Noo, Maister Robertson," continued mine host, "we'll hae an eik to drink the stirrup cup, and a safe landin' tae you at Kinnettles ;" and while handing him his glass of punch, and another to the gudewife, he wickedly observed, "I hope the waterkelpies are no abroad the nicht, Mr Daniel." "Mere myths," courageously rejoined the Dominie. "Weel, weel," replied mine host, "we'll see what we'll see ; that's all I'll say for the present; tak' aff yer glass." "Bring the lantern, Peter," said the gudewife; "an' ye maun licht Maister Robertson hame, for it's a dark eerie nicht." "I'm to gie Maister Robertson a convoy hame the nicht mysel'," said mine host, rising at the same time and putting on his hat and overcoat, and grasping firmly in his hand his great ash cudgel, as if preparing for another mysterious encounter with the weird-like denizens of the bog. "Jamie," said the farmer, "you're a gey whin stronger than Peter; tak' you the lantern, an' I'll lift the stiles mysel'." "But are ye no feart, aifter what ye've come through this awfu' nicht?" timidly enquired his better-half. "Feart? gudewife," defiantly replied mine host-" feart! I'm ready for anither fecht whenever the time comes, for "Fie! for shame, gudeman," interrupted his wife, “an' Maister Robertson, a rulin' elder o' the kirk, standin' an' hearin' ye a' the time !" "But I didna say the word," quietly observed the gudeman in reply, taking the credit to himself for his circumspection. "Are ye ready, Jamie? Come awa', Maister Robertson. Button up yer coat, and tie yer comforter round yer neck for it's a gey cauld winter's nicht." And away the trio went out into the darkness, mine host on the one side and his stalwart son on the other, with the phlegmatic and censorious Dominie in the midst. A little bewildered at first, they soon got accustomed to the darkness, and strode down the hill with as steady steps as, under the circumstances, could with a good grace have been anticipated-Jamie keeping the lantern as much in front of the Dominie as possible, and his father lifting the stiles at the end of each park with due care and attention to their progress and comfort. It was a beautiful night, the ground crisp and hard with the whitening frost; the air clear, sharp and exhilarating, with just enough of wind as gently to stir the leafless branches with a deep, hollow, weird-like sadness. Overhead the stars shone out in all their quiet, subdued loveliness, looking calmly down upon the wayfarers like so many guardian angels overshadowing their midnight path. "Yonder's the spunkies i' the moss," burst out the farmer, when they had gone about mid-way down the hill. "Do ye no see them, Maister Robertson, kickin' an' flingin' and caperin' like sae mony warlocks frae the ither warld?" "I see," replied the Dominie, "what might properly be termed the inevitable and natural exhaltations of a marsh or moss, phenomena of Nature explainable and clear in the light of science and philosophic research. The wonder would be, not that there should be phenomena of the kind, but why such should not appear in all similar circumstances." "Ye're aff the subject a'thegither," pettishly rejoined his companion. "Do you really mean to tell me, Maister Daniel Robertson, that thae warlocks I encoontered and slew this very nicht i' the bog yonder are no leevin' creatur's, wi' flesh an' bluid an' banes like ourselves?" "Wisht!" said Jamie, interrupting. 'Did you no hear yon lauch I doot the waterkelpies are abroad the nicht!" "What man of ordinary comprehension, or sound judgment," sneeringly retorted the Dominie, "could for a moment believe in such imaginary nondescripts as waterkelpies, far less give credence to the absurd and ridiculous idea that articulate sounds of laughter could, by any possibility, proceed from that which has no existence? Pshaw !" The travellers had now reached the margin of the Kerbet, which, very much swollen by the recent rains, had overflowed its banks, its dark and drumly waters stretching far and near in the hollow, like a vast inland lake. As good, or ill fortune would have it, the rickety wooden bridge was still left intact. The courageous Dominie now declared that, as the frail structure could not bear the weight of more than one individual at the same time, he would go across it alone, and bidding his good guardians farewell, he boldly proceeded to put his brave purpose into execution. Brave Daniel reached, without a word, When guffaw from the bank, "Whaur are ye?" cried mine host behind, I'll tell't to a' the clachan: Ou, there ye are, wat, drucket hen, The crestfallen, sadly-troubled, and discomfited Dominic was duly escorted to the door of his house in Kinnettles, where his companions bade him a kind adieu, with sincerely-expressed wishes that no bad effects would follow his sudden and mysterious immersion in the haunted Kerbet. The farmer and his son reached home in safety, very much to the delight and relief of the ever-watchful gudewife, who kindly welcomed them at its threshhold, with as much warmth of affection and kindly feeling as if they had just returned from a long and perilous journey. The worthy farmer, and the no less worthy Dominie, now sleep side by side in the quiet, secluded churchyard of Kinnettles, undisturbed in their slumbers by the rush of their native river, in whose now unruffled waters no demons or waterkelpies riot or roar; but where all is serenity and peace in the smiling and fertile valley of the Kerbet. The marshes and mosses have long since been drained and brought under productive cultivation; will-o'-the-wisps, the brownies, and the fairies have all disappeared; eldrich screams and weird-like sounds have given place to the songs of the reapers and the melody of birds; and green fields wave and wild flowers bloom on the once haunted and desolate Bog. |