But whan I cam to mysel’, wasna I thankfu’ ’at I wasna deid, for he micht hae gotten me than, an’ there was nae sayin’ what he micht hae dune til me! But, think ye, wad auntie Jean believe ’at I had seen him, or that it was onything but a dream ’at had come ower me, atween waukin’ an’ sleepin’? Na, no she! for she had sleepit throu’ ’t hersel’!” For some time silence reigned, as befitted the close of such a story. Nothing but the solemn tick of the tall clock was to be heard. On and on it went, as steady as before. Ghosts were nothing special to the clock: it had to measure out the time both for ghosts and unghosts. “But what cud the ghaist hae been wantin’? No the corp, for he turnt awa’, ye tell me, frae hit,” Cosmo ventured at length to remark. “Wha can say what ghaists may be efter, laddie! But, troth to tell, whan ye see live fowk sae gien ower to the boady, ’at they’re never happy but whan they’re aitin’ or drinkin’ or sic like--an’ the auld captain was seldom throu’ wi’ his glaiss, ’at he wasna cryin’ for the whisky or the het watter for the neist--whan the boady’s the best half o’ them, like, an’ they maun aye be duin’ something wi’ ’t, ye needna won’er ’at the ghaist o’ ane sic like sud fin’ himsel’ gey an’ eerie an’ lonesome like, wantin’ his seck to fill, an’ sae try to win back to hae a luik hoo it was weirin’.” “But he gaed na to the corp,” Cosmo insisted. “’Cause he wasna alloot,” said Grannie. “He wad hae been intil ’t again in a moment, ye may be certain, gien it had been in his pooer. But the deevils cudna gang intil the swine wantin’ leave.” “Ay, I see,” said Cosmo. “But jist ye speir at yer new maister,” Grannie went on, “what he thinks aboot it, for I ance h’ard him speyk richt wise words to my gudeson, James Gracie, anent sic things. I min’ weel ’at he said the only thing ’at made agen the viouw I tiuk--though I spakna o’ the partic’lar occasion--was, ’at naebody ever h’ard tell o’ the ghaist o’ an alderman, wha they say’s some grit Lon’on man, sair gien to the fillin’ o’ the seck.” CHAPTER XIII. THE STORM-GUEST. Again a deep silence descended on the room. The twilight had long fallen, and settled down into the dark. The only thing that acknowledged and answered the clock was the red glow of the peats on the hearth. To Cosmo, as he sat sunk in thought, the clock and the fire seemed to be holding a silent talk. Presently came a great and sudden blast of wind, which roused Cosmo, and made him bethink himself that it was time to be going home. And for this there was another reason besides the threatening storm: he had the night before begun to read aloud one of Sir Walter’s novels to the assembled family, and Grizzie would be getting anxious for another portion of it before she went to bed. “I’m glaid to see ye sae muckle better, Grannie,” he said. “I’ll say gude nicht noo, an’ luik in again the morn.”