“But water doesna rin up the brae, sir,” replied Nashon. “I’m below Eyrymount, an’ my neebours below me winna object. But, after a’, I think o’ mony things I never execute.” “I hope you will think twice about these things,” said Græme. “I merely called in, as a neighbour, to wish you joy. Good morning!” “Guid mornin, sir!” replied Nashon, without rising from his chair. “That’s Eyrymount himsel,” he continued, after Græme had departed, “if Esther’s account o’ him be correct. Isna that the laird o’ Eyrymount, Esther?” said he to Esther Maclean, as she entered. “The very man,” replied Esther. “Was he wantin to buy Outfieldhaugh frae ye?” “Ou, ay,” replied Nashon; “but I tauld him I intended to build spinnin mills an’ tannaries on the Well Burn.” “An’ do ye intend to spoil yer estate in that way?” said Esther. “It’s no very likely,” replied Nashon. “The value o Outfieldhaugh lies in its woods an’ waterfa’s; an’, though I pretended to like the whin muirs o’ Conybarns better, it was only to bring the laird oot, an’ see if ye were richt in what ye tauld me. I think ye’re nearly as wise as mysel.” While Nashon and Esther Maclean were thus comparing notes, Hugo Græme returned to Eyrymount, and had a conference with his lady on the character of the new proprietor of Outfieldhaugh. “What kind of a boor have you found this new proprietor of your old estate?” said the lady, as he entered. “Is he simple enough to sell, or wild enough to dissipate it by incurring debt?” “He is either the most arch rogue or the greatest fool I ever met in my life,” replied Græme. “I intended to introduce myself after the first salutation; but the idiot began talking about Eyrymount as if he thought I were some one else, and said such things as entirely prevented me from making the declaration. His housekeeper is old Esther Maclean, whom he has retained; and she, who bears us no good feeling, has told him everything he requires to know to put him on his guard against us—that is, I mean, if he has wit enough to take advantage of it; for I doubt yet if he is not a born idiot. He talked about hunting conies, and building spinning-mills on the Well Burn, like a madman; yet, if he knew whom he was talking to, there was a sense in his madness which I do not much like.” “Did you ask him if he would sell Outfieldhaugh?” inquired the lady. “I did,” answered Græme; “and his answer was a question—‘Dinna ye think I should just be doing wi’t?’ What could you make of a person who could return such an answer to a plain question?” “But you say he talked of hunting,” said the lady. “That is a very good way, as you well know, of getting into debt.” “Yes, but it depends on the game,” replied Græme—“cony-hunting, with an old hairy terrier he calls Birsey, will not ruin him, even if he found any conies on Outfieldhaugh, which I defy him to do.”