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Ghosts And Family Legends; A Volume For Christmas

<h2>THE SHEEP-FARMER'S STORY.</h2> The following singular story was related to me in a dialect which, though I understood, from having lived much in the country where it was spoken, I cannot attempt to imitate, not being "to the manner born;" neither, if I could, would it be agreeable, or very comprehensible, to my readers in general. I shall, therefore, tell it in plain English; and hope it will interest others as much as it did me. Sandy Shiels, the narrator, was a sheep-farmer in the Lammermuirs. He lived in a lone house, in a wild and desolate country, with his wife and children, his farm-servants, and his dogs, and seldom saw a stranger enter his door, from week's end to week's end; but on certain occasions, more or less frequent, Sandy attended the fairs and markets about the country; and at the cattle shows, sometimes, appeared in Edinburgh itself. He was a shrewd and a simple man—for the two characteristics are by no means incompatible—hardhanded and hardfeatured, but not unkindly; a serious churchman, a great reader of his Bible, and a keen observer of Nature and Nature's language, as men who are born and bred amongst mountains generally are. His wife was a plain, hardworking woman, by whom he had two children, yet young; but he had an elder son by a former marriage, called Ihan Dhu; a Highland appellation not common in the Lammermuirs; but his mother was a Highland woman, and had given it to him. Ihan Dhu means Black John; and it suited him well; for, instead of the brawny figure and sandy hue which so generally prevails in the south, he had inherited the slight figure, the dark complexion, and black hair and eyes of his mother, who was a specimen of the genuine Highland type; which, contrary to the belief commonly entertained in England, is (Lord Jeffrey informed me), a little dark man. The two farm-servants were called Donald and Rob. The former a heavy, stolid lout, who had just intellect enough to do what he was told; the latter, a smart, lively, goodnatured lad, who was fond of reading, when he could get a book; and wide awake about everything that his very limited sphere brought him in contact with. The only other member of the family was a girl, called Annie Goil, an orphan niece of Mrs. Shiel's; who, in conjunction with her aunt, did all the work of the house and dairy. The whole household lived and ate, and sat together, and with them the two sheep dogs, Coully and Jock. In the summer, it was pleasant enough; but in the winter, when the snow fell and the sheep were on the hills, they had often a hard time of it. Annie Goil was a pretty lass; and, naturally enough, there being no other at hand, the three young men, Ihan, Donald, and Rob, were all candidates for her favour. Nevertheless, they lived tolerably well together; the rivalry, apparently, not running very high. Ihan was, of course, much the best match; and he might, perhaps, feel pretty confident that whenever he chose seriously to put in his claim, it could not be resisted. Rob, possibly, comforted and consoled himself with the sundry little marks of preference she bestowed on him, which might be genuine, or might be designed to agacer Ihan. As for Donald, he was of so slow and undemonstrative a nature, that though she and the other two often jeered him, and pretended to think he was the one destined to carry off the prize, he exhibited neither anger nor jealousy; if he felt either, he kept them to himself. Nevertheless, a sharp word, or sour look, would occasionally pass between them; that is, between Ihan and Rob; for any dissatisfaction on the part of Donald was only expressed by increased stolidity and silence; and so persuaded was the old man that their feelings towards each other were not very genial; to say the least, that he had been heard to say to his wife, that Annie Goil was a good girl; but, perhaps, it would have been better, if she had never come amongst them. Still they rubbed on "middling well," as Sandy said, and certainly far better than might have been expected under such circumstances. The winter preceding the circumstances I am about to relate, had been a very severe one, and Sandy Shiels, who had exposed himself too much to the weather, was laid up with an attack of rheumatism. As he was a very active man, still not much past middle life, who when in health diligently looked after his business himself; his loss during this confinement was much felt; and the others had enough to do to make up for his absence. On the 27th of February, the snow was on the ground, and the wind blew wildly over the Lammermuir hills; the sheep sought shelter and munched their turnips sadly in the nooks and hollows. Donald was abroad, with the dogs looking after them, and seeing that no stray lamb perished in the cold; while Ihan and Rob were off to Gifford. Ihan to do business there for his father; for there was a three days fair, or market, which Sandy, when in health, never failed to attend, both as a buyer and seller; and Rob to fetch some medicine for the patient, and other matters wanted at the farm. Rob set out at dawn of day, for it was a long walk of ten miles through the snow, and the sooner he could return the better, as the things he was to bring were wanted. Ihan rode a rough little Shetland pony; he did not start till midday, and was not expected back till the evening after the next. On the first day he had to go on as far as Haddington, which is four miles beyond Gifford, where he was to consult a lawyer about a disputed point in his father's lease. He was to sleep there at the house of a friend, and to be back to the Gifford market early the next morning. Annie Goil stood at the door covertly watching Ihan as he mounted his pony, well equipt for his cold ride, his neck enveloped in a red comforter, knitted for him by Annie herself. She leant against the door-post looking about her with an air of indifference; while Ihan seemed wholly occupied in tightening his girths and seeing that his stirrups were of the right length. Neither spoke; still he lingered over his gear, and still she stood leaning against the post, when suddenly Mrs. Shiels called from above, "Is Ihan gone? Stop him!" and hurrying down stairs appeared at the door. "Ihan," she said, "I forgot to tell Rob to bring sixpennyworth of camphorated spirits for your father; if he has not left Gifford before you get there, tell him to get it." "He will have left, I should think," answered Ihan. "Perhaps not," said Mrs. Shiels, "but if he has you must bring it, though I want it to night." "Very well," said Ihan as he rode away, and Mrs. Shiels and Annie re-entered the house. The hours passed drearily at the farm, with the sick man groaning in his pain, and the two lonely women dividing their time betwixt his chamber and their household cares. As the day advanced Annie went frequently to the door and looked up the glen; and Mrs. Shiels, glancing at the Dutch timepiece that stood in the kitchen, observed that she wondered Rob had not come back. Annie responding that the snow was deep, and it must be very heavy walking, again went to the door and looked up the glen; but there was nobody in sight. The hours dragged on, and as it grew later, large flakes began to fall and obscure what little light remained. Sandy grew impatient and accused Rob of idling and lingering at the fair; Mrs. Shiels wondered; and Annie having done her work, took up her station at the door with her gown-skirt over her head; there she stood listening for the sound of a step, for it was too dark to see, and at last, she heard a heavy foot approaching, but it was Donald returning from the hills, followed by Jock. "You haven't seen anything of Rob, have you?" said Annie. "How should I see Rob! He's gone to Gifford ar'n't he?" "You might have been on that side of the hill?" "Ar'n't he come back with the stuff?" "No; he might have been here three hours since. I can't think what's become of him." "Stopt at the Fair, may-be; there's dancing the night at the Lion." "Nonsense!" said Annie, pouting her lips at him, and turning away to prepare their evening meal. Donald shook himself, and stamped his feet to get rid of the snow, and then entered the kitchen. Mrs. Shiels hearing a foot, came down, hoping to find Rob; and was very much disappointed when she saw it was Donald. "What can that boy be doing, all this time?" she said. "Perhaps he met Ihan, and went back for the camphor," suggested Annie. "He'd never think of such a thing! Ihan would not let him; that is, if he had got any way on," said Mrs. Shiels. "There's dancing the night at the Lion," reiterated Donald. "Why, the boy would never think of staying for that!" exclaimed Mrs. Shiels; indignant at the mere notion of such a disorderly proceeding. "To be sure, he wouldn't," said Annie; "Donald knows that well enough;" and her lip curled as she spoke! Annie was evidently disturbed at Rob's prolonged absence, and angry with Donald's insidious attempts to put an ill construction on it. But still Rob did not come. Annie went on preparing the supper, which consisted of porridge; and when she had poured it into the bowls, she made two messes for the dogs. "Where's Coullie?" she said looking round. "Arn't he here?" inquired Donald. "No.—Don't you see he's not?" "Well, I thought he came in with me," said Donald; and going to the door he began whistling the familiar whistle that calls home the dogs. Jock leaving his bowl of porridge, that Annie had set down, went to the door too. Presently they both returned; Donald sat down to his supper, saying, he supposed the dog would come presently; and Jock applied himself to his. As the night drew on, the wonders and conjectures increased, and the family grew more and more fidgity and perplexed at Rob's absence. Donald went to bed as he had to be up betimes in the morning; Mrs. Shiels did the same, because she slept in her sick husband's room; Annie lingered as long as she could; then she made up a good fire, set a saucepan of porridge on the hob, left a bowl and a spoon, and salt on the table, and went to bed too. When she was undrest and had extinguished her candle, she opened the lattice window of her chamber and put out her head. The snow still fell, and it was very dark; after listening for some minutes, she shut the window, and softly opening her chamber door, she crept down stairs again to the kitchen. There she unhooked a lantern from the wall, put a lighted candle in it, and returning to her room, she hung it on the latch of the window before she got into bed. She thought she should not sleep, but after a little while she did, and soundly too, till next morning. When she opened her eyes at dawn of day, the candle was burnt out, but the sight of the lantern in so unusual a place, reminded her immediately why she had placed it there, and she wondered whether Rob had come home in the night, and been let in by Donald. When she came down, Donald was already outside the house cleaning his shoes and feeding the pigs. She called to him, "Is Rob come?" "I don't know," he answered. Of course, then, he was not. It was most extraordinary. "Is Coullie come in?" she asked. "I ha'nt seen him," he said. He was very silent; swallowed his mess of porridge in haste, and then set off to the hills with Jock. When Mrs. Shiels came down, the same questions were reiterated; and when she found Rob was not come, she was very angry, and expressed her conviction that he had staid for the dance at the Lion. Even Annie no longer defended him, for where else could he be all night? A pretty rating he will get when he comes back thought she; and she could not deny that he well deserved it. She expected him early, and every now and then she went to the door as on the preceding day; but hour after hour passed, and he did not come. All sorts of conjectures were formed as to the cause of the delay, but Mrs. Shiels and her husband admitted but one solution of the difficulty—"the boy's head had got clean turned, and he was gone to the bad althegither." At night, Donald came home to the great surprise of all, without Coullie; he said he had seen nothing of the dog. Now Coullie was devoted to Rob—in short, he was the only person the animal cared for—and it occurred to Annie that he had somehow come upon Rob's footsteps, and tracked him to Gifford, and she expected whenever they did come, to see them both arrive together. But that night passed and the next day, and then, towards evening, Annie, who had been to the door, announced that she heard the pony's foot; here was at hand one who doubtless would be able to solve the mystery about the absentee. It was the first question addressed to him—"Where's Rob?" "How should I know?" "Haven't you seen him?" "Seen him, no; I've not seen him since the day before yesterday. Why? what's the matter?" "He's never come back from Gifford. Where was he when you saw him?" "I never saw him at all, except in the morning before he set off." "You did not meet him on the road, nor in the village?" "No; I saw nothing of him after he left this." "Did you hear if he had been there?" "I never asked; I bought the camphor—here it is. How's father?" At night, Donald came home, still without Coullie; and as the dog had never strayed before, it was natural to conclude that he had gone after Rob, wherever the latter might be. The irritation of Mr. and Mrs. Shiels increased hourly, so did Annie's wonder and perplexity. The two young men, Ihan and Donald, were differently affected; Ihan seemed rather pleased, and he covertly taunted Annie with this desertion of her favourite; Donald was only more silent and stolid than he had been before. But the next day, and the next passed, and so on through the winter, and neither the man nor the dog were seen or heard of. It was ascertained by enquiry that he had been at Gifford, and made his purchases, and it was supposed, had left it early, but that no one knew. Certainly, he was not at the ball at the Lion. Somebody had seen him in company with a young man from Edinburgh, in a tax cart, but nobody knew who he was; and, finally, Mr. and Mrs. Shiels declared their conviction that, tempted by fine promises—being an ambitious lad—he had gone off to Edinburgh with this acquaintance, to better his fortune; and Ihan appeared to adopt their opinion. Annie had considerable difficulty in doing so; but, at length, even she ceased to defend him, since there was no other way of accounting for his absence. Before the winter was over, Donald had left. He had come home one night, with his hands dreadfully mangled by a pole-cat, which he said he had found devouring a rabbit under a bush, and had rashly attempted to lay hold of. Hereupon, he went away to the infirmary in Edinburgh, to be under Dr. S.; and Sandy Shiels engaged a man to fill his situation, and also bought a dog in place of Coullie, whose loss he much regretted, well-broken sheep dogs being very valuable. Some time had elapsed—the fine weather had set in; and with it, the farmer had got rid of his rheumatism, and resumed his former habits of active occupation; when one day, as he was crossing the hill between his own farm and a place called 'The Hopes,' he observed a dog trotting along, that struck him as being very like Coullie. He gave a whistle, and the animal stopt and looked round, and on calling him by his name, he came up and fondled his master, appearing very glad to see him, and finally accompanying him where he was going. 'The Hopes' was a gentleman's house, about three miles from Shiels' farm, and when he reached the gate, he was surprised to hear the keeper at the lodge say, patting the dog familiarly, "Well, Willie, so you've come back again?" Whereupon Sandy asked him if he knew him. "Oh, yes, I know him," he said; "he's a great favourite of the ladies here. They found him on the hill nearly starved, some time ago, and he followed them home, and has lived here, off and on, ever since." "That's very odd," said Sandy, "for the dog's mine. I brought him up from a pup, and we broke him ourselves—that is, a lad did, that lived with me then, called Rob. But, one day last winter, the lad disappeared, and the dog too, and I've never seen either of them since, till just now I saw the dog on the hill." "Well," said the keeper, "I think it was early in March the ladies brought him home here. He often goes away; but he comes back again, and the ladies take him along with them when they walk out." Sandy could not conceive why the dog had deserted his home, or why he had remained starving on the hill, when he knew very well where his food awaited him. The keeper agreed in its being very extraordinary, since he must have known his way over every part of the moor for miles round; and suggested that he might have gone after the young man who had disappeared, and been on his way back, when the ladies met him; but, even if that were so, why had he not returned home since, especially as he was frequently absent for hours, and sometimes all night? When Sandy Shiels had concluded his business, and was about to depart, he whistled the dog, who followed him willingly enough; but as he approached his own house, Coullie shrunk behind, and seemed inclined to turn tail, and run away; however, he came on in obedience to his master's call, and was joyfully received by the family in general, who listened with interest to the account of his adventures, as far as they were known; all agreeing that his absence must, in some way, be connected with that of Rob. It was observed that one of his first movements was to examine the premises after his own fashion, sniffing about, first below, and afterwards above stairs in the attic in which Rob and Donald formerly slept. What was the result of these investigations we cannot tell; but when they were concluded, he stretched himself before the kitchen fire, and went to sleep. The following days, Sandy took him on the hill when he went to look at the sheep, and he did his duty as formerly; but on the third or fourth evening he was missed, and was absent all night. He returned in the morning, and was gently chided for this irregularity—the family concluding he had been to visit his friends at "The Hopes;" however, a few evenings after, when they were sitting at supper, with the doors closed, and the dogs lying quietly dozing on the hearth, Coullie suddenly started up, and began to show signs of uneasiness; while, almost at the same moment, something like a low whistle reached their ears, which seemed to proceed from the air, rather than the earth. They had heard no sound of footsteps, but Ihan rose from the table and opened the door; whereupon Coullie seized the opportunity to dart out, and Ihan returned, saying he could see nobody, but that Coullie was off at the rate of ten miles an hour. Everybody wondered where he was gone; and at last it was concluded that some person from 'The Hopes' had been passing near the house, and that the dog had recognised the whistle, and followed him. The truant was found at the door in the morning, and chided as before, but that did not prevent his repeating the offence, till their wonder was greatly increased by the following circumstance:— Sandy Shiels always read prayers to his family on the Sunday evenings; and one night, while he was thus engaged, and the dogs were lying apparently asleep, Coullie suddenly uttered two or three low whines. Annie raised her head from her book to bid him be silent, and observing that he was sitting up, looking eagerly towards the door, which was open, she turned her eyes in that direction, and saw to her astonishment, a man standing in the dusk of the passage. As all the inmates of the house were present, and the outer door was shut, so that no stranger could have come in, she uttered an exclamation of surprise which interrupted the reader, and caused everybody to turn their heads; but with the sound of her voice the figure had disappeared, and the others saw nothing. Coullie ran to the door, and became uneasy, while Sandy asked what was the matter. "I saw a man in the passage," said Annie, looking very pale and agitated. "A man," said Ihan, rising; "I saw no man;" and going into the passage, he opened the outer door to look round; whereupon, Coullie seized the opportunity, and rushed out. "There's nobody that I see," said Ihan; "but the dog's off again." "I'm sure I saw somebody," said Annie. "Go and look up stairs," said Mrs. Shiels; Ihan went and returned, saying there was nobody in the house but themselves, and Annie must have been mistaken. But Annie shook her head, and beginning to cry, asserted that she had not been mistaken, and that she believed the man she saw was Rob, adding, that she always thought that the whistle they sometimes heard, and which agitated Coullie so much, was Rob's whistle. At this suggestion, Ihan fired and showed symptoms of great irritation; and if Sandy had not been present, high words would have arisen betwixt him and Annie. As it was, his countenance was clouded all the rest of the evening. This event made a great impression on the young girl; she thought of it day and night, and she watched with increasing interest Coullie's inexplicable proceedings, which still continued. Sometimes of an evening they would hear footsteps, whereon the dog would betray great uneasiness till they opened the door, and he could dart off on his mysterious errand. Once or twice they confined him and would not let him go; but the animal seemed so much distressed and whined so piteously, that they ceased to oppose his inclinations. Although when they heard these footsteps they searched the premises in all directions, nobody was ever to be found. Annie wished them to endeavour to find out where Coullie went; but nobody seemed to have sufficient curiosity to take any trouble about the matter, though they all admitted the singularity of the circumstances. No doubt, it was difficult, inasmuch as he always started on these expeditions at night, while he ran off so rapidly that it would have been impossible to overtake him or keep him in sight. This state of things continued till the month of October, which became very cold; and one morning, towards the end of it, Annie, when she went to the door, found there had been a fall of snow in the night. Coullie, who had gone off the evening before, was there waiting to be let in, and she observed the track of his feet on the ground. It immediately occurred to her that here was an opportunity of discovering what she wished so much to know. She had nobody to consult, for her aunt and uncle were not come down; and being a stout country girl, she threw her shawl over her head, and calling the dog to follow her, she set off up hill and down dale, guided by the marks of Coullie's footsteps which remained perfectly distinct for about four miles in the direction of Gifford, when they turned off to the left, and stopt at the edge of an old quarry. The dog, who had trotted cheerily beside her, now began to descend into the hollow, stopping and looking up every now and then, whining as if inviting her to follow; but after several attempts she found the descent too steep. When at the bottom, Coullie disappeared for a minute or two under the embankment, and she heard him still whining; but finding she could make no further investigations without assistance, she called the dog who joined her directly, and they returned home to find Mrs. Shiels in a dreadful state of mind at Annie's unaccountable and unprecedented absence. However, when she communicated the cause of it, and the discovery she had made, Sandy was sufficiently aroused to say that he would send some one down to examine the quarry. He did so, and the result was that they found the remains of poor Rob under circumstances that led to the conclusion that he had somehow gone out of his way, and fallen into the pit; for on medical examination, it appeared that both his legs were broken. As the quarry was abandoned and in a lonely spot, a person might very possibly die there under such circumstances without being able to make his distress known. Poor Rob's remains were committed to the earth; Coullie left off his erratic habits and became an ordinary, but intelligent, sheep dog; and the family at Shiel's farm, after due comment, on the singular events that had led to the discovery of his body, which could only be accounted for by admitting a spiritual agency (a view of the case which Ihan always repelled with scorn) turned their thoughts into other channels, with the exception of Annie, who had a strong persuasion that Rob had not come fairly by his end; and oftentimes she would say to Coullie when alone with the dog, "Ah, Coullie, if you had a tongue that could speak, I think you could tell a tale!" And Coullie looked at her with his large wise eyes full of affection; for she petted and cherished him for Rob's sake, and always gave him the largest mess at supper time. Sometimes, too, Annie had strange thoughts about Ihan; he had become more dark, and silent, and sulky, since Rob's death; was it because he was jealous of the interest she had exhibited, or was it from any other cause? Did he meet Rob that day on his way to Gifford? What could Rob be doing so much out of the road as the Quarry? These thoughts naturally made her more and more cold to Ihan, whilst her reserve aggrivated his ill-temper and dissatisfaction. And Annie was not the only person to whom these questions suggested themselves. People would gossip amongst themselves secretly; it got abroad that there had been a good deal of jealousy amongst the young men, and it was whispered that the first Mrs. Shiels had aptly named her son when she called him Ihan Dhu—Black John. At length, these reports reached Sandy Shiels and his son; the latter appeared sullenly indifferent, but they made the old man very unhappy; and every night when he prayed aloud with the family before retiring to rest, he besought God, saying, "Oh Lord if it be thy pleasure, may them that are innocent be justified!" At term time, when, in Scotland, servants frequently, especially farm servants, change their situations, the man whom Shiels had engaged in Donald's place left; and having heard that Donald, who had been in service at Dunse, was leaving also, Sandy wrote and proposed to him to return; the proposal was accepted, and they were expecting him, when a cart was heard to stop at the door, out of which they looked to see him alight; but the visitor proved to be an old Highland woman who introduced herself as Rob's grandmother—his father and mother having emigrated. She said she had heard the account of her boy's death, and the attachment displayed by the dog, and that she had come all the way to see the animal, and had brought the money to purchase him; if his master did not object. She had travelled from Argyleshire to Haddington by coach; and at the latter place she had hired a cart and a lad to drive her to her destination. She added that she and her old man "were no that puir but that they could afford to buy the dog that had been so faithful to their ain boy." Sandy Shiels and his family made her welcome; invited her to stay and take a day or two's repose after her journey, and granted her request with regard to Coullie. Annie was very much interested in the old woman; and the latter was deeply impressed with the circumstances the young girl related to her; enquiring minutely into every particular of places and persons connected with the boy's death. She said it was "wonderfu';" adding, that she had "seen" Rob's funeral,—meaning by the second sight—"but not the manner of his death; but she had no doubt God would shew it her before she died." On the third day she departed; and Sandy Shiels, who had business at Gifford, drove her and Annie, who wished to accompany her, in his cart. They started in time to meet the coach, Coullie making the fourth passenger; and in due time reached the village and drove up to the door of the Lion, where three or four men were sitting on the bench outside smoking and drinking beer; but the moment the cart stopped—almost before it had stopped—Coullie bounded out of it and with indescribable fury attacked one of the men. His master called him, but he was deaf to his voice; and so violent was his rage that it was not without the assistance of the others that he could draw him off. Even then, whilst holding him back with an iron grasp, the dog growled and shewed his teeth, and with flashing eyes, struggled to renew the onslaught. "Wha's that?" asked the old woman, who had witnessed the scene with surprise. "That's our Donald, that I told you of—he that lived with us in poor Rob's time," said Annie. "What a very extraordinary thing of Coullie to do! I never saw him in such a way before. Besides, he couldn't have forgotten Donald!" "Forget him!" exclaimed the old woman; "Na, na; Coullie no forgets. Mind ye lass; tak tent o' that man—there's bluid upon him!" Donald in the mean time had retreated into the house in search of some water to wash his hand that Coullie had bitten. When he came out the old woman and the dog had departed. But the lookers on were not uninterested observers of what had past. A new idea struck them; the tide of opinion was rather turned in Ihan's favour. However, this was but the under current of gossip. Donald went home with Sandy Shiels and Annie, who whatever they might have thought, said nothing; but after this, in the nightly prayer, Sandy not only besought God that the innocent might be justified; but also, that the guilty might be brought to repentance; and sometimes he would go further, dilating on the duties enjoined by a true repentance; such as reparation, where reparation could be made; and, at all events, where it could not, taking the burthen of our guilt on our own shoulders, even though it weigh us down to death, rather than let the guiltless man suffer, though it were only the breath of slander. One morning, about three weeks after the departure of the old Highland woman, when they opened the door they found Coullie waiting to be let in. However, kindly treated by his new owners, he had found his way back; a letter arrived from them shortly afterwards, saying, they had missed him, and that they did not doubt that he would reach his former home, "and, may, be yet give testimony agen the wicked." Annie kept the contents of this epistle to herself, but it did not escape her eye that Donald seemed cowed by Coullie's enmity, which the animal never failed to exhibit as much as he durst. Moreover, as time passed, Donald lost his appetite and the healthy hue of his complexion; in short it was evident he was far from happy in his situation; and she thought that Sandy's significant and awful prayers were eating into his soul and wearing him away. Farm servants are usually hired for six months; and at last Donald gave warning that he should leave next term—he did not think the place agreed with him; so it seemed indeed; but that was the year 1832; and ere term time arrived, the cholera came, and seized upon Donald as one of its first victims in those parts. Before he died, he made his confession in presence of the doctor, to the effect, that he was jealous of Rob, because in the morning he and Ihan had overheard a conversation between him and Annie, and she had promised him a lock of her hair. That he met him as he was returning from Gilford, induced him to go out of his road towards the Quarry, by saying one of the sheep had fallen in, and when Rob was off his guard, he pushed him over; but not without a desperate struggle, Rob being very active and strong. He was dreadfully frightened, and ran from the place not knowing what would happen, and for some time he hourly expected Rob to come home. But at length finding he did not, he ventured to approach the spot; but Coullie was there and he flew at him and bit him so severely that he resolved to leave the country and go to the Infirmary. He had heard of Rob's remains being found and buried, while he was living at Dunse; and thinking there would be no more enquiry about the matter, he accepted the farmer's offer to come back, because he wanted to see Annie. And so he died, justifying the innocent, according to the old man's prayers; but Ihan did not long survive. Sandy said he feared he had taken to whiskey drinking from disappointment and vexation, and the cholera found him also an easy prey. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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