"I'll tell you what we'll do," said the keeper. "We'll go up the glen and see the old witch wife, Nancy Dobbell. She can tell us all about it. They tell me she knows everything that ever happened for a hundred years back and more." "Will she no' be in bed?" said his wife. "In bed?" said Dugald. "Not she. She never goes to bed till `the wee short hour ayont the twal,' and there is no saying what she may be doing till then." "Well, let us go," cried Kenneth, starting up. One glance at the walls of the room in Dugald's cottage, that did duty as both kitchen and dining-hall, would have given a stranger an insight into both the character and calling of the chief inmate. Never a picture adorned the room, but dried grasses and ferns did duty instead, and here were the skins of every kind of wild animal and bird to be found in the wilds of the Scottish Highlands, the foumart or polecat, the whitterit or weasel, the wild cat and fox, ptarmigan, plovers of every kind, including the great whaup or curlew, hawks, owls, and even the golden-headed eagle itself stood stuffed in a corner, with glaring fiery eyes and wings half outspread. "Come," said Dugald. And away went the keeper and Kenneth, the two dogs following closely at their masters' heels, as if to protect them from all harm. CHAPTER TWO. KENNETH AND HIS FRIENDS. "Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, And fondly broods with miser care; Time but the impression deeper makes, As streams their channels deeper wear." Burns. Scene: A long, low-thatched cottage, in the midst of a wild, bleak moorland. No other hut nor house in sight. Around the cottage is a garden or kail-yard, with a fence of flat, slab-like stones. In this is a gate half open, and hanging by one hinge. The cottage has its door in the gable, and is windowless, save for some holes 'twixt thatch and eaves, through which light is now glimmering. A bright round moon is riding in the sky, among a few white clouds, that look like wings. Coming towards the gateway, two figures may be seen, both in the Highland garb. Behind them two dogs. "Losh! man," said Dugald McCrane, "I'm almost 'feared to gang farther. Who knows what company she may have in this lonesome dreary spot? Hark! What was that?" Dugald started and stared about him in some trepidation as the prolonged and mournful shriek of an owl rose on the night air. "It is only an owl," said Kenneth, laughing. "Ach! man," said Dugald, "it is not me that's afraid of an owlet, but goodness be about us, Kenneth, there are owls _and_ owls. Hush! there it goes again. Losh! look how the dogs are shaking and trembling?" It was true what Dugald had said; both the retriever and collie had thrown themselves at their masters' feet, and gave every indication of mortal dread. After all, it was merely owing to a kind of magnetic influence which fear always has. This had been communicated from Dugald to his dog, and from the retriever to the collie.