BY PEDEN'S CLEUCH INSCRIBED TO WILSON PEASE TO WHOSE SUGGESTION THE TALE IS OWING BY PEDEN'S CLEUCH The Border hounds had gone right away up Redewater after an old dog fox they had picked up on the rocks beside the Doure; twice had he circled the Doure, then setting his mask westwards had crossed the Rede, and, turning right-handed, made straight for Carter Fell. My mare had gone splendidly for the first hour, but by the time we passed the cairn on the Carter she had lost a shoe, and in addition had sustained a bad 'over-reach,' so I was fain to pull up and dismount, while I watched the Master and whip, and one other intrepid horseman, struggling gamely on towards Carlin's Tooth on the Scottish side of the Border after the tail of the vanished hounds. I determined to descend to the grass-grown Hawick road which leads into the Jedburgh-Newcastle road half a mile from the ancient Border boundary line. The early morning that particular April day had been lovely; curlews newly returned had luted their love-song overhead; golden plovers had piped upon the bents; there was a scent of heather-burning in the snell air, but suddenly the weather had changed, and with an idle motion snowflakes now drifted down the wind. Cheviot was fast disappearing behind a white shroud; the triple Eildons showed like breaking billows; Ruberslaw alone was black against the sky. I stayed a minute or two more to give my mare a mouthful of water at the springs of Jed, but whereas I had intended an inch she insisted upon an ell. As I tried to drag her head out of the little pool of water, a stranger--evidently an old shepherd--accompanied by a frail old collie bitch came up beside me. 'Hae ye had guid huntin'?' he inquired, 'Hae ye killed the fox? They're mischievous beasts at the best, but worst o' a' at this season--aye seekin' for the puir lambs.' I said I thought the fox had got right away, and would probably save his brush by taking refuge in some stronghold by Carlin's Tooth. 'Ay,' he replied absently, then added, 'D' ye ken the name o' this cleuch?' 'No,' I replied; 'I come from the wrong side of the Border,' finally succeeding, as I spoke, in drawing my mare's head out of the water. ''Tis Peden's Cleuch,'[1] he said with animation; ''tis the place where blessed Master Peden was preachin' when the bloody "Clavers" was huntin' him like a fox on the fells; ay, and would hae worrited him wi' his hounds had na the Lord sent down His mist and wrapped him awa frae the hunters.' He paused a moment, then continued slowly: 'They still hunt for him--"Clavers" and Grierson o' Lag; 'tis the weird they hae to dree till the Day o' Doom for their wickedness i' pursuin' the Saints o' God.' 'Have you ever seen them?' I asked lightly. 'Ay, I hae,' came the unexpected response, 'whiles i' the "oncome" or "haar," or by the moonlicht. 'D' ye no ken the bit ballant?