“My gude auld wife,” said he, “God bless ye!—Ye hae bits o’ queer gates whiles, but I wadna part wi’ ye, or see ane o’ yer grey hairs wranged, for a’ the ewes on the Hermon Law.”—Maron gave two or three sobs, and put the corner of her check–apron upon the eye that was next Walter.—“Fair fa’ your heart, Maron,” said he, “we’ll say nae mair about it; but, my woman, we maun crack about our bits o’ hame affairs, an’ I had the strongest reasons for coming to the truth o’ yon; however, I’ll try ither means.—But, Maron Linton, there’s anither thing, that in spite o’ my heart is like to breed me muckle grief, an’ trouble, an’ shame.—Maron, has the Brownie o’ Bodsbeck been ony mair seen about the town?” “Troth, gudeman, ye’re aye sae hard i’ the belief—wi’ a’ your kindness to me and mine, ye hae a dour, stiff, unbowsome kind o’ nature in ye—it’ll hardly souple whan steepit i’ yer ain e’esight—but I can tell ye for news, ye’ll no hae a servant about yer house, man, woman, nor boy, in less than a fortnight, if this wicked and malevolent spirit canna be put away—an’ I may say i’ the language o’ Scripture, ‘My name is Legion, for we are many.’ It’s no ae Brownie, nor twa, nor half–a–score, that’s about the house, but a great hantle—they say they’re ha’f deils ha’f fock—a thing that I dinna weel understand. But how many bannocks think ye I hae baken in our house these eight days, an’ no a crust o’ them to the fore but that wee bit on your trencher?” “I little wot, gudewife; maybe half–a–dizen o’ dizens.” “Half–a–dizen o’ dizens, gudeman!—aye sax dizen o’ dizens!—a’ the meal girnels i’ the country wadna stand it, let abee the wee bit meal ark o’ Chapelhope.” “Gudewife, I’m perfectly stoundit. I dinna ken what to say, or what to think, or what to do; an’ the mair sae o’ what I have heard sin’ I gaed to the hill—Auld John o’ the Muir, our herd, wha I ken wadna tell a lee for the Laird o’ Drumelzier’s estate, saw an unco sight the night afore last.” “Mercy on us, gudeman! what mair has been seen about the town?”