“Ye’re weel nigh a man noo, Cosmo,” she said. “A body may daur speyk to ye aboot things a body wadna be wullin’ to say till a bairn for fear o’ frichtin’ o’ ’im mair nor the bit hert o’ ’m cud stan’. Whan a lad can warstle wi’ a pair o’ bills, an’ get the upper han’ o’ them, an’ gar them du his biddin’, he wadna need to tak fricht at--” There she paused. This preamble was enough in itself--not exactly to bring Cosmo’s heart into his mouth, but to send a little more of his blood from his brain to his heart than was altogether welcome there. His imagination, however, was more eager than apprehensive, and his desire to hear far greater than his dread of the possible disclosure. Neither would he have turned his back on any terror, though he knew well enough what fear was. He looked at Aggie as much as to say, “What can be coming?” and she stared at him in turn with dilated pupils, as if something dreadful were about to be evoked by the threatened narrative. Neither spoke a word, but their souls got into their ears, and there sat listening. The hearing was likely to be frightful when so prefaced by Grannie. “There’s no guid ever cam’ o’ ca’in’ things oot o’ their ain names,” she began, “an’ it’s my min’ ’at gien ever ae man was a willain, an’ gien ever ae man had rizzon no to lie quaiet whan he was doon, that man was your father’s uncle--his gran’ uncle, that is, the auld captain, as we ca’d him. Fowk said he saul’ his sowl to the ill ane: hoo that may be, I wadna care to be able to tell; but sure I am ’at his was a sowl ill at ease,--baith here an’ herefter. Them ’at sleepit aneth me, for there was twa men-servan’s aboot the hoose that time--an’ troth there was need o’ them an’ mair, sic war the gangin’s on! an’ they sleepit whaur I’m tauld ye sleep noo, Cosmo--them ’at sleepit there tellt me ’at never a nicht passed ’at they h’ardna soons ’aneth them ’at there was no mainner o’ accoontin’ for nor explainin’, as fowks sae set upo’ duin’ nooadays wi’ a’ thing. That explainin’ I canna bide: it’s jist a love o’ leasin’, an’ taks the bluid oot o’ a’ thing, lea’in’ life as wersh an’ fusionless as kail wantin’ saut. Them ’at h’ard it, tellt me ’at there was _no_ accoontin’, as I tell you, for the reemish they baith h’ard--whiles douf-like dunts, an’ whiles speech o’ mou’, beggin’ an’ groanin’ as gien the enemy war bodily present to the puir sinner.” “He micht hae been but jabberin’ in ’s sleep,” Cosmo, with his love of truth, ventured to suggest: Aggie gave him a nudge of warning. “Ay micht it,” returned the old woman with calm scorn; “an’ it micht nae doobt hae been snorin’, or a cat speykin’ wi’ man’s tongue, or ony ane o’ mony things ’cep’ the trowth ’at ye’re no wullin’ to hear.”