I. I HEAR NO GOOD IN THE INN AT THE FORDS O’ CLYDE II. AN OLD JOURNEY WITH A NEW ERRAND III. THE HOUSE WITH THE CHIPPED GABLES IV. UP HILL AND DOWN DALE V. EAGLESHAM VI. I MAKE MY PEACE WITH GILBERT BURNET VII. OF A VOICE IN THE EVENTIDE VIII. HOW NICOL PLENDERLEITH SOUGHT HIS FORTUNE ELSEWHERE IX. THE END OF ALL THINGS John Burnet of Barns BOOK I—TWEEDDALE CHAPTER I THE ADVENTURE WHICH BEFELL ME IN THE WOOD OF DAWYCK I have taken in hand to write this, the history of my life, not without much misgiving of heart; for my memory at the best is a bad one, and of many things I have no clear remembrance. And the making of tales is an art unknown to me, so he who may read must not look for any great skill in the setting down. Yet I am emboldened to the work, for my life has been lived in stirring times and amid many strange scenes which may not wholly lack interest for those who live in quieter days. And above all, I am desirous that they of my family should read of my life and learn the qualities both good and bad which run in the race, and so the better be able to resist the evil and do the good. My course, by the will of God, has had something of a method about it, which makes the telling the more easy. For, as I look back upon it from the vantage ground of time, all seems spread out plain and clear in an ordered path. And I would but seek to trace again some portion of the way with the light of a dim memory. I will begin my tale with a certain June morning in the year 1678, when I, scarcely turned twelve years, set out from the house of Barns to the fishing in Tweed. I had escaped the watchful care of my tutor, Master Robert Porter, the curate of Lyne, who vexed my soul thrice a week with Cæsar and Cicero. I had no ill-will to the Latin, for I relished the battles in Cæsar well enough, and had some liking for poetry; but when I made a slip in grammar he would bring his great hand over my ears in a way which would make them tingle for hours. And all this, mind you, with the sun coming in at the window and whaups whistling over the fields and the great fish plashing in the river. On this morn I had escaped by hiding in the cheese-closet; then I had fetched my rod from the stable-loft, and borrowed tackle from Davie Lithgow, the stableman; and now I was creeping through the hazel bushes, casting, every now and then, a glance back at the house, where the huge figure of my teacher was looking for me disconsolately in every corner.