focht, though they had neer seen ane anither atween the een afore, had they had strength aneugh left them; but they had neither pith for fechtin, nor breath for scolding, an' sae they just sat down an' girned at ane anither across the stripe. The Tower o' Fairburn is naething noo but a dismal ruin o' five broken storeys--the ane aboon the other--an' the lands hae gane oot o' the auld family; but the story o' the twa auld wives is a weel-kent story still. "The laird o' Fairburn, in my faither's time, was as fine an open-hearted gentleman as was in the hail country. He was just particular guid to the puir; but the family had ever been that--ay, in their roughest days, even whan the tower had neither door nor window in the lower storey, an' only a wheen shot-holes in the storey aboon. There wasna a puir thing in the kintra but had reason to bless the laird; an' at ae time he had nae fewer than twelve puir orphans living aboot his hoose at ance. Nor was he in the least a proud, haughty man; he wad chat for hours thegither wi' ane o' his puirest tenants; an' ilka time he crossed the ferry, he wad tak my faither wi' him, for company just, maybe half-a-mile on his way out or hame. Weel, it was ae nicht aboot the end o' May--a bonny nicht, an hour or sae after sundown--an' my faither was mooring his boat, afore going to bed, to an auld oak-tree, when wha does he see but the laird o' Fairburn coming down the bank? Od, thocht he, what can be taking the laird frae hame sae late as this? I thocht he had been no weel. The laird cam steppin into the boat, but, instead o' speakin frankly, as he used to do, he jist waved his hand, as the proudest gentleman in the kintra micht, an' pointed to the ither side. My faither rowed him across; but, oh! the boat felt unco dead an' heavy, an' the water stuck around the oars as gin it had been tar; an' he had just aneugh ado, though there was but little tide in the river, to mak oot the ither side. The laird stepped oot, an' then stood, as he used to do, on the bank, to gie my faither time to fasten his boat an' come alang wi' him; an', were it no for that, the puir man wadna hae thocht o' going wi' him that nicht; but, as it was, he just moored his boat an' went. At first he thocht the laird must hae got some bad news that made him sae dull, an' sae he spoke on, to amuse him, aboot the weather an' the markets; but he found he could get very little to say, an' he felt as arc an' eerie in passing through the woods, as gin he had been passing alane through a kirkyard. He noticed, too, that there was a fearsome flichtering an' shrieking amang the birds that lodged in the tree-taps aboon them; an' that, as they passed the _Talisoe_, there was a colly on the tap o' a hillock that set up the awfullest yowling he had ever heard. He stood for awhile in sheer consternation, but the laird beckoned him on, just as he had done at the river side, an' sae he gaed a bittie farther alang the wild rocky glen that opens into the