he seemed to watch. "Colin, Colin!" he called; "poor Colin!" The dog did not rise: he gave every mute token of joy and pleasure at the sight of his master, looking over his bushy shoulder, and wagging his tail; but he made no effort to stir--fearful, apparently, of disturbing the object that lay beside him. "Surely," said his master, "my poor dog is bewitched. Colin, you rascal, what have you there? Come with me to the sheep." But Colin moved not. The farmer stood rooted to the spot; he had neither the power to advance nor retreat; a superstitious fear took possession of him; his hair moved upon his head; a tingling feeling seemed to excite every muscle of his body, and deprive it of voluntary motion. The fear, in fact, of the fairies was upon him; he conceived himself the victim of fascination--a conception well justified by his own conduct, for he could not, for a time, withdraw his eyes from the object of his alarm. When the subject was considered, there was ground for his fear. Before him, under the shadow of a large grey boulder stone, within a few yards, lay his faithful dog--a creature that had never before required a second call from him--now deaf to that voice it was his former pleasure to obey at every hazard. He was supporting something that had the appearance of a lovely child sound asleep, nestled close into his bosom, the head resting upon his shaggy side, and its curly, golden hair appearing like rays of light on the pillow upon which it rested. The face appeared more beauteous than anything of this earth he had ever seen--so delicate, so clear, so beautifully blended was rose and lily; but the eyes were swollen and red with weeping, pearly drops stole in slow succession from its dark eyelashes, while a heavy sob swelled its little bosom as if it would awaken it. The farmer, with his eyes almost starting from their sockets, incapable of motion or cool reflection, stood gazing upon the pair as they lay before him--the one unconscious, the other, while showing every symptom of joy he could silently express at sight of his master, yet seemingly fearful as an anxious mother of disturbing his sleeping charge. As William Kerr's surprise began to abate, his fears, if possible, increased. "Surely," he said to himself, "this is one of the children of the fairies. God protect me! I am bewitched as well as my poor dog. I never felt thus before in the presence of mere earthly being. I cannot move--my knees can scarce support me--I cannot withdraw my eyes from that fearful object. God deliver me from the power of the enemy!" And he shut his eyelids by a convulsive effort.