len’ him ane, an’ lang had him ’at len’ ’t forgotten to luik for ’t, er’ he thoucht o’ peyin’ the same. It was mair nor ae year or twa ’at he leeved aboot the place, an’ naebody cared muckle for his company, though a’ body was ower feart to lat him ken he was na welcome here or there; for wha cud tell he micht oot wi’ the swoord he aye carriet, an’ mak an’ en’ o’ ’im! For ’deed he fearna God nor man, ony mair nor the jeedge i’ the Scriptur’. He drank a heap--as for a’ body at he ca’d upo’ aye hed oot the whisky-bottle well willun’ to please the man they war feart at.” The voice of the old woman went sounding in the ears of the boy, on and on in the gloom, and through it, possibly from the still confused condition of his head, he kept constantly hearing the rimes she had repeated to him. They seemed to have laid hold of him as of her, perhaps from their very foolishness, in an odd inexplicable way:-- Catch yer naig an’ pu’ his tail; In his hin’ heel ca’ a nail; Rug his lugs frae ane anither-- Stan’ up, an’ ca’ the king yer brither. On and on went the rime, and on and on went the old woman’s voice. “Weel, there cam’ a time whan an English lord begud to be seen aboot the place, an’ that was nae comon sicht i’ oor puir country. He was a frien’, fowk said, o’ the yoong Markis o’ Lossie, an’ that was hoo he cam to sicht. He gaed fleein’ aboot, luikin’ at this, an’ luikin’ at that; an’ whaur or hoo he fell in wi’ _him_, I dinna ken, but or lang the twa o’ them was a heap thegither. They playt cairts thegither, they drank thegither, they drave oot thegither--for the auld captain never crossed beast’s back--an’ what made sic frien’s o’ them nobody could imaigine. For the tane was a rouch sailor chield, an’ the tither was a yoong lad, little mair, an’ a fine gentleman as weel ’s a bonny man. But the upshot o’ ’t a’ was an ill ane; for, efter maybe aboot a month or sae o’ sic friendship as was atween them, there cam a nicht ’at brouchtna the captain hame; for ye maun un’erstan’, wi’ a’ his rouch w’ys, an’ his drinkin’, an’ his cairt-playin’, he was aye hame at nicht, an’ safe intil ’s bed, whaur he sleepit i’ the best chaumer i’ the castle. Ay, he wad come hame, aften as drunk as man cud be, but hame he cam. Sleep intil the efternune o’ the neist day he wad, but never oot o’ ’s nain bed--or if no aye in his ain nakit _bed_, for I fan’ him ance mysel’ lyin’ snorin’ upo’ the flure, it was aye intil ’s ain room, as I say, an’ no in ony strange place drunk or sober. Sae there was some surprise at his no appearin’, an’ fowk spak o’ ’t, but no that muckle, for naebody cared i’ their hert what cam o’ the man. Still whan the men gaed oot to their wark, they bude to gie a luik gien there was ony sign o’ ’m. It was easy to think ’at he micht hae been at last ower sair owertaen to be able to win hame. But that wasna it, though whan they cam upo’ ’m lyin’ on ’s back i’ the howe yon’er ’at luiks up to my daughter’s bit gerse for her coo’, they thoucht he