"It's jest a nasty hoast[5] that I have," said the Laird. [Footnote 5: "Hoast" = cough.] "Man, you're daft," said the Dwarf, contemptuously; "that's what ails ye." The Laird now resolved to be prudent, but the inconvenience of his burden was so great that after a while he resolved to risk the displeasure of the Man of Peace once more, and gently slipped a third stone to the ground. "Third time's lucky," he thought. But the proverb failed him, for the Dwarf turned as before, shouting: "What's yon?" "It'll be my new brogues[6] that ye hear bumpin' Upon the muckle stanes," said the Laird. [Footnote 6: "Brogues" = shoes.] "Ye're fou, Brockburn, I tellt ye so. Ye're fou!" growled the Man of Peace, angrily, and the Laird dared not drop any more of the Dwarfs gifts. After a while his companion's good-humour seemed to return, and he became talkative and generous. "I mind your great-grandfather weel, Brockburn. He was a hamely man, I found his sheep for him one nicht on this verra hill-side. Mair by token, ye'll find your beasties at hame, and the men and the dogs forebye." The Laird thanked him heartily, and after a while the Dwarf became more liberal-spirited still. "Yese no have to say that ye've been with the _Daoine Shi_ and are no the better for it," he said. "I'm thinking I'll grant ye three wushes. But choose wisely, man, and dinna throw _them_ away. I hae my fears that ye're no without a bee in your bonnet, Brockburn." Incensed by this insinuation, the Laird defended his own sagacity at some length, and retorted on his companion with doubts of the power of the _Daoine Shi_ to grant wishes. "The proof of the pudding's in the eating o't," said the Man of Peace. "Wush away, Brockburn, and mak the nut as hard to crack as ye will." The Laird at once began to cast about in his mind for three wishes sufficiently comprehensive to secure his lifelong prosperity; but the more he beat his brains the less could he satisfy himself. How many miles he wandered thus, the Dwarf keeping silently beside him, he never knew, before he sank exhausted on the ground, saying: "I'm thinking, man, that if ye could bring hame to me, in place of bringing me hame, I'd misdoubt your powers nae mair. It's a far cry to Loch Awe,[7] ye ken, and it's a weary long road to Brockburn." [Footnote 7: "It's a far cry to Loch Awe."--_Scotch Proverb_.] "Is this your wush?" asked the Man of Peace. "This is my wush," said the Laird, striking his rung upon the ground. The words had scarcely passed his lips when the whole homestead of Brockburn, house and farm buildings, was planted upon the bleak hill-side. The astonished Laird now began to bewail the rash wish which had removed his home from the sheltered and fertile valley where it originally stood to the barren side of a bleak mountain. The Man of Peace, however, would not take any hints as to undoing his work of his own accord. All he said was: