’Ye are twa well-put-on men to be so ignorant. Ye maun hae been lang awa’ frae this pairt o’ the country no to ken that the neighbourhood is very unhealthy for the friends o’ the Earl o’ Cassillis to come here. Faith, the last that cam’ speerin’ for rent and mails in this quarter gat six inch o’ cauld steel in the wame o’ him!’ ’And what,’ said the Dominie, ’became o’ him after that? Did he manage to recover?’ ’Na, na. He was buried in Colmonel kirkyaird. The good man of Boghead gied him a resting-grave and a headstone. It was thought to be very kind o’ him. It was Boghead himsel’ that stickit him.’ ’Ye see what it is to be a Christian, good wife!’ said the Dominie. ’Ow ay, lad,’ said the woman, placidly. ’That was generally remarked on at the time. Ye see, Boghead was aye a forgiein’ man a’ his days. But for a’ that, it was the general opinion o’ the pairish that the thing might be carried ower far, when it cam’ to setting up my Lord of Cassillis’s folks wi’ graves and headstones!’ She continued, after a pause,— ’I hae been deevin’ at our guidman to gie up the Craig, for it keeps him a deal from hame, and I aye tell him that he carries awa’ mair than he brings back o’ drink and victual. But he says that the rock is a maist extraordinary hungrysome place!’ ’It has that name,’ said I, unwarily. She stopped and looked at me with sudden suspicion. ’What ken ye aboot the Ailsa?’ she asked, looking directly at me. ’Nocht ava,’ I replied, ’but a’ seaside places hae the name o’ making your ready for you meal of meat.’ ’Hoot, no,’ said Mistress Bannatyne. ’Now, there’s mysel’. I canna do mair than tak’ a pickin’ o’ meat, like a sparrow on the lip o’ the swinepot. Yet Chapeldonnan is but a step frae the sea.’ She was at that moment lifting a heavy iron pot off the cleps, or iron hooks by which it hung over the fireplace in the midst of the kitchen floor. ’I hae aye been delicate a’ my days, and it is an awesome thing for a woman like me to be tied to a big eater like James, that never kens when he has his fill—like a corbie howkin’ at a braxy sheep till there was naething left but the horns and the tail.’ I thought we might get some information about the Benane, which might prove of some use to us when we adventured thither. ’Good wife,’ said I, ’we are thinking of going by Ballantrae to the town of Stranrawer. The direct way, I hear, is by the Benane. What think ye—is the road a good one?’ ’Ye are a sonsy lad,’ she said, ’ye wad mak’ braw pickin’ for the teeth o’ Sawny Bean’s bairns. They wad roast your ribs fresh and fresh till they were done. Syne they would pickle your quarters for the winter. The like o’ you wad be as guid as a Christmas mart to them.’ ’Hoot, good wife,’ said I, ’ye ken that a’ this talk aboot Sawny Bean’s folk is juist blethers—made to fright bairns frae gallivanting at night.’