"Dare I refuse? That would be worse. I took the road down through the willow thicket, and crossed the rickety auld plank bridge, and in two minutes I was in front of the house. There were sounds of singing and revelry from the inside; I knocked, but wasn't heard. Knocked louder, and in a moment everything was dark and silent. The door opened. I was seized and dragged in. What I saw and heard at Mill House that night I was put on oath not to tell till all were dead or gone. I may tell you now--they were smugglers." "Thank goodness!" said Dugald, greatly relieved it was no worse. "Oh! Grannie, but you have a fearsome way o' tellin' a story." "For twa lang years they occupied that house, but during that time something happened that caused grief amang the village bairns. Corbie was missed. Weeks flew by, and he never came back. Then one day a thinly-attended funeral came winding towards the kirk-yard, carrying a wee bit coffin. "The coffin was Corbie's, and there were many tears and mickle sorrow amang the poor hunchback's acquaintances, I can tell ye. His friends went awa', and left poor Corbie in the mools, but the bairnies ne'er forgot the grave, and mony a bonnie wreath o' buttercups and gowans did they string and put on it in the sweet summer-time. "Well, laddies, the Mill House was found deserted one day. The smugglers had gone as quietly as they had come. But the house kept its bad name, and so did the hills above it; and so my story ends." "Not quite," said Dugald. "Did the brownie never come again, or the kelpie? Were the dead candles seen nae mair?" "No," said Kenneth; "don't you understand? The brownie was the poor boy, Corbie; the kelpie was a smuggler; and the dead candles the lights seen at night near the cave in the fairy knoll. That was the place where they carried on their sinfu' trade." "I see things clearly enough noo," said Dugald; "and I'll no' be feared to cross the muir. Ah, well, Grannie, you have relieved my mind." "I'm glad o' it, laddie. Now will Grannie take down the good Book and read a bit?" Grannie did. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The talk now took a cheerier turn. Old Nancy, knowing how painfully superstitious Dugald was, refrained from introducing anything more in the shape of either brownie or spunkie. And so a pleasant hour was spent, till the old "wag-at-the-wa'" pointed to the hour of twelve, and warned Kenneth and his friend it was high time to commence retracing their steps across the moor. CHAPTER FOUR. GLOAMING IN THE GLEN--KENNIE'S CAVE. "Gloaming o'er the glen is falling; Little birds have ceased to sing, Flowerets now their petals faulding As night descends on dewy wing." Anon. Scene: Half-way down the glen, where heather and patches of tilled land end, and woodland commences. Where the stream goes wimpling and swirling round the boulders, underneath the rustic bridge.