"In a somewhat sparsely populated district in the parish of Balmaghie there lived, with a crippled husband, a wrinkled-visaged old woman who was reckoned by all who lived near her as an uncanny character. She dwelt in a small thatched cottage well away from the public road, and had attached to her cottage a small croft or patch, half of which was used as a garden, the remainder as a gang for pigs and poultry. Not far from where she lived abounded long strips of meadow land, liable to be in wet seasons submerged by the backwaters of the Dee. About a mile from the cottage was a farm where a number of cows were kept, the farmer usually disposing of the butter made up every week to small shopkeepers, and in the villages near by. He was always very chary about passing the old woman's cottage with his basket of butter and eggs, feeling sure of a bad market should she chance to get a glimpse at the contents of the basket. Moreover, he would gladly have dispensed with the peace-offering he was obliged to make in the form of a pound of butter or a dozen or so of eggs, which was considered a sure safeguard. To avoid her he had taken a new route, crossing a ford higher up the water and going over a hill to another village, where he would have little chance of coming in contact with her. One day however, he found that his plan was discovered, and that to persist in it would be to court disaster. Crossing the moor he observed the old woman busily gathering birns[3] and small whin roots. She was undoubtedly watching and waiting for him, and was the first to speak. 'Aye, aye, man; ye maun reckon me gey blin' no' tae see ye stavering oot o' the gate among moss holes tae get ooten my wey. Ye hae wat yer cloots monie a mornin' tae keep awa' frae my hoose, and for nae ither guid reason than tae save twa or three eggs or a morsel o' butter that ony weel-minded neebor wud at ony time gie an auld donnert cripple tae feed and shelter. Losh, man, but ye hae a puir, mean speerit. Yer auld faither wudna hae din ony sic thing, an' mony a soup o' tea a hae geen 'im when he used to ca' in on his hame-gaun frae the toon gey weel the waur o' a dram.' Annoyed at being challenged the farmer was not quite in a mood to laugh the matter off, and accordingly he, with some degree of temper, told the old woman to go to a place where neither birns nor whin roots were needed for kindling purposes. About a mile further over the moor he met a neighbour's boy hurrying along, making for his farm to ask him to come over to help his master to pull a cow out of a hole in the peat-moss. He at once went, asking the lad to carry one of his baskets to enable them to get along faster. They left the two baskets at the end of a haystack near the muir farm, and crossed over to the moss where they could see the farmer and his wife doing their utmost to keep the cow's head above the mire. Additional strength of arm however, soon brought the cow out of her dangerous