"It's nothing," said Kenneth, "nothing, Dugald. I'm not afraid, if you are." "Fear!" replied the stalwart Highland keeper. "Dugald never feared the face o' clay. But look how they're shakin' yet. These dogs hear voices we cannot listen to and live; they see things that human eyes, dare not scan. Dinna deny it, Kenneth, lad; dinna seek to deny it. "Do you remember, Kenneth, that dreary, dark December night two years ago, when Walie's wife--goodness be about us--went and hanged herself in the woods o' Alva, and how Shot there sat a' the livelong night on the top of the old turf wall and howled so mournfully? It made me tremble in my bed to hear him. And did you no' tell me that your Kooran did the same one night the year before last, and that next morning a hat and a stick were found on the brink o' Beattie's mill-dam, and poor Jock Grey's body stark and stiff--" "Stop! stop!" cried Kenneth. "This is no time of night for such stories. Kooran, come on." And the boy began to lead the way up through the garden to Nancy's door. "Just a moment," said Dugald, laying a hand on Kenneth's shoulder. "Have you got your flute?" "Yes." "Well, just give us a toot. If Nancy has company that's no' canny, it will give them time to bolt up the chimney. Sirs! Sirs!" Kenneth laughed, put his flute together, and started a merry air. "The Campbells are coming; hurrah, hurrah?" was the tune he played. Dugald forgot his fear, and began to sing. The "twa dogs" forgot theirs, and began to dance and caper and bark, and in the very middle of this "rant" the cottage door opened, and Nancy herself appeared. "Come in, come in, you twa daft laddies," she cried, "or 'deed you'll start Nancy hersel' to dance, for as auld as she is. Come in; you'll leave the dogs outside, winna ye, for fear o' my poor cat?" "Ay, Grannie," said Dugald, "we'll leave the dogs outside, and I'm thinkin' neither o' them would show face inside your door if you asked them e'er so kindly. My Shot there hasn't forgotten the salute your cat gave him last time he came here. If you mind, Grannie, she jumped on his back and rode him a' round the kail-yard, and never missed him a whack, till he flew out o' the gate and ran helter-skelter o'er the moor. I dinna think your cat's canny, Grannie." "What a beautifu' nicht!" said Grannie; "but come in, laddies." "You're sure you have no company?" said Dugald, still hesitating to enter. "Come, ye stoopid loon," she replied. "There's nobody here but me and the cat. Sit doon. Tak' a stool, Kennie, my bonnie boy." A bonnie boy? Yes, there was no denying it. Kenneth, our hero, was a bonnie boy, and gave promise of growing up into a fine handsome man.