“I dinna won’er I was sayin’ ower thae fule words,” she said, “for ’deed I was dreamin’ o’ the only ane I ever h’ard say them, an’ that was whan I was a lass--maybe aboot thirty. Onybody micht hae h’ard him sayin’ them--ower and ower til himsel’, as gien he cudna weary o’ them, but naebody but mysel’ seemed to hae ta’en ony notice o’ the same. I used whiles to won’er whether he fully un’erstude what he was sayin’--but troth! hoo cud there be ony sense in sic havers?” “Was there ony mair o’ the ballant?” asked Cosmo. “Gien there was mair; I h’ard na ’t,” replied Grannie. “An’ weel I wat! he was na ane to sing, the auld captain.--Did ye never hear tell o’ ’im, laddie?” “Gien ye mean the auld brither o’ the laird o’ that time, him ’at cam hame frae his sea-farin’ to the East Indies--” “Ay, ay; that’s him! Ye hae h’ard tell o’ ’im! He hed a ship o’ ’s ain, an’ made mony a voyage afore ony o’ ’s was born, an’ was an auld man whan at len’th hame cam he, as the sang says--ower auld to haud by the sea ony more. I’ll never forget the luik o’ the man whan first I saw him, nor the hurry an’ the scurry, the rinnin’ here, an’ the routin’ there, ’at there was whan the face o’ ’m cam in at the yett! Ye see they a’ thoucht he was hame wi’ a walth ayont figures--stowed awa’ somewhaur--naebody kent whaur. Eh, but he was no a bonny man, an’ fowk said he dee’d na a fairstrae deith: hoo that may be, I dinna weel ken: there _war_ unco things aboot the affair--things ’at winna weel bide speykin’ o’. Ae thing’s certain, an’ that is, ’at the place has never thriven sin syne. But, for that maitter, it hedna thriven for mony a lang afore. An’ there was a fowth o’ awfu’ stories reengin’ the country, like ghaists ’at naebody cud get a grip o’--as to hoo he had gotten the said siller, an’ sic like--the siller ’at naebody ever saw; for upo’ that siller, as I tell ye, naebody ever cuist an e’e. Some said he had been a pirate upo’ the hie seas, an’ had ta’en the siller in lumps o’ gowd frae puir ships ’at hadna men eneuch to haud the grip o’ ’t; some said he had been a privateer; an’ ither some said there was sma’ differ atween the twa. An’ some wad hae ’t he was ane o’ them ’at tuik an’ sauld the puir black fowk, ’at cudna help bein’ black, for as ootlandish as it maun luik--I never saw nane o’ the nation mysel’--ony mair nor a corbie can help his feathers no bein’ like a doo’s; an’ gien they turnt black for ony deevilry o’ them ’at was their forbeirs, I kenna, an’ it maks naething to me or mine, --I wad fain an’ far raither du them a guid turn nor tak an’ sell them; for gien their parents had sinned, the mair war they to be pitied. But as I was sayin’, naebody kent hoo he had gethert his siller, the mair by token ’at maybe there was nane, for naebody, as I was tellin’ ye, ever had the sma’est glimp o’ siller aboot ’im. For a close-loofed near kin’ o’ man he was, gien ever ony! Aye ready was he to borrow a shillin’ frae ony fule ’at wad