cause to be ashamed o’ givin’ up the fecht.’ But I says to mysel again: ‘Gidden Scott, ye ‘re a coward. Wad ye let a man die, when there’s a breath in your body? Think shame o’ yoursel, man.’ So I aye kept haudin’ on, although I was very near bye wi’ ‘t. Whenever I lookit at Mr. Airthur’s face, as white’s death and a’ blood, and his een sae stelled-like, I got a kind o’ groo and felt awfu’ pitiful for the bit laddie. Then I thocht on his faither, the auld Lord, wha was sae built up in him, and I couldna bear to think o’ his son droonin’ in that awfu’ hole. So I set mysel to the wark o’ keepin’ him up a’ nicht, though I had nae hope in the matter. It wasna what ye ca’ bravery that made me dae’t, for I had nae ither choice. It was just a kind o’ dourness that runs in my folk, and a kind o’ vexedness for sae young a callant in sic an ill place.
“The nicht was hot and there was scarcely a sound o’ wind. I felt the sweat standin’ on my face like frost on tatties, and abune me the sky was a’ misty and nae mune visible. I thocht very likely that it micht come a thunder-shower and I kind o’ lookit forrit tae ‘t. For I was aye feared at lichtning, and if it came that nicht I was bound to get clean dazed and likely tummle in. I was a lonely man wi’ nae kin to speak o’, so it wouldna maitter muckle.
“But now I come to tell ye about the queer side o’ that nicht’s wark, whilk I never telled to nane but yoursel, though a’ the folk about here ken the rest. I maun hae been geyan weak, for I got into a kind o’ doze, no sleepin’, ye understand, but awfu’ like it. And then a’ sort o’ daft things began to dance afore my een. Witches and bogles and brownies and things oot o’ the Bible, and leviathans and brazen bulls—a’ cam fleerin’ and flauntin’ on the tap o’ the water straucht afore me. I didna pay muckle heed to them, for I half kenned it was a’ nonsense, and syne they gaed awa’. Then an auld wife wi’ a mutch and a hale procession o’ auld wives passed, and just about the last I saw yin I thocht I kenned.
“‘Is that you, grannie?’ says I.
“‘Ay, it’s me, Gidden,’ says she; and as shure as I’m a leevin’ man, it was my auld grannie, whae had been deid thae sax year. She had on the same mutch as she aye wore, and the same auld black stickie in her hand, and, Dod, she had the same snuff-box I made for her out o’ a sheep’s horn when I first took to the herdin’. I thocht she was lookin’ rale weel.
“‘Losh, Grannie,’ says I, ‘where in the warld hae ye come frae? It’s no canny to see ye danderin’ about there.’
‘“Ye’ve been badly brocht up,’ she says,’ and ye ken nocht about it. Is’t no a decent and comely thing that I should get a breath o’ air yince in the while?’
“‘Deed,’ said I, ‘I had forgotten. Ye were sae like yoursel I never had a mind ye were deid. And how d’ ye like the Guid Place?’
“I— Wheesht, Gidden,’ says she, very solemn-like, ‘I’m no there.’
“Now at this I was fair flabbergasted. Grannie had aye been a guid contentit auld wumman, and to think that they hadna let her intil Heeven made me think ill o’ my ain chances.
“‘Help us, ye dinna mean to tell me ye ‘re in Hell?’ I cries.
“‘No exactly,’ says she, ‘but I ‘ll trouble ye, Gidden, to speak mair respectful about holy things. That’s a name ye uttered the noo whilk we dinna daur to mention.’
“‘I’m sorry, Grannie,’ says I, ‘but ye maun allow it’s an astonishin’ thing for me to hear. We aye counted ye shure, and ye died wi’ the Buik in your hands.’
“‘Weel,’ she says,‘it was like this. When I gaed up till the gate o’ Heeven a man wi’ a lang white robe comes and says, “Wha may ye be?” Says I, “I’m Elspeth Scott.” He gangs awa’ and consults a wee and then he says, “I think, Elspeth my wumman, ye ‘ll hae to gang doon the brae a bit. Ye ‘re no quite guid eneuch for this place, but ye ‘ll get a very comfortable doonsittin’ whaur I tell ye.” So off I gaed and cam’ to a place whaur the air was like the inside of the glass- houses at the Lodge. They took me in wi’oot a word and I’ve been rale comfortable. Ye see they keep the bad part o’ the Ill Place for the reg’lar bad folk, but they’ve a very nice half-way house where the likes o’ me stop.’
“‘And what kind o’ company hae ye?’
“‘No very select,’ says she. ‘There’s maist o’ the ministers o’ the countryside and a’ pickle fairmers, tho’ the maist o’ them are further ben. But there’s my son Jock, your ain faither, Gidden, and a heap o’ folk from the village, and oh, I’m nane sae bad.’
“‘Is there naething mair ye wad like then, Grannie?’ *
“‘Oh aye,’ says she,‘we’ve each yae thing which we canna get. It’s a’ the punishment we hae. Mine’s butter. I canna get fresh butter for my bread, for ye see it winna keep, it just melts. So I’ve to tak jeely to ilka slice, whilk is rale sair on the teeth. Ye ‘ll no hae ony wi’ ye?’
“‘No,’ I says,’ I’ve naething but some tobaccy. D’ ye want it? Ye were aye fond o’ ‘t.’
“‘Na, na,’ says she. ‘I get plenty o’ tobbaccy doon bye. The pipe’s never out o’ the folks’ mouth there. But I’m no speakin’ about yoursel, Gidden. Ye’re in a geyan ticht place.’
“‘I’m a’ that,’ I said. ‘Can ye no help me?’
“‘I micht try.’ And she raxes out her hand to grip mine. I put out mine to tak it, never thinkin’ that that wasna the richt side, and that if Grannie grippit it she wad pu’ the broken airm and haul me into the water. Something touched my fingers like a hot poker; I gave a great yell; and ere ever I kenned I was awake, a’ but off the rock, wi’ my left airm aching like hell-fire. Mr. Airthur I had let slunge ower the heid and my ain legs were in the water.
“I gae an awfu’ whammle and edged my way back though it was near bye my strength. And now anither thing happened. For the cauld water roused Mr. Airthur frae his dwam. His een opened and he gave a wild look around him. ‘Where am I?’ he cries,’ O God!’ and he gaed off intil anither faint.
“I can tell ye, sir, I never felt anything in this warld and I hope never to feel anything in anither sae bad as the next meenutes on that rock. I was fair sick wi’ pain and weariness and a kind o’ fever. The lip-lap o’ the water, curling round Mr. Airthur, and the great crush o’ the Black Linn itsel dang me fair silly. Then there was my airm, which was bad eneuch, and abune a’ I was gotten into sic a state that I was fleyed at ilka shadow just like a bairn. I felt fine I was gaun daft, and if the thing had lasted anither score o’ meenutes I wad be in a madhouse this day. But soon I felt the sleepiness comin’ back, and I was off again dozin’ and dreamin’.
“This time it was nae auld wumman but a muckle black-avised man that was standin’ in the water glowrin’ at me. I kenned him fine by the bandy-legs o’ him and the broken nose (whilk I did mysel), for Dan Kyle the poacher deid thae twae year. He was a man, as I remembered him weel, wi’ a great black beard and een that were stuck sae far in his heid that they looked like twae wull-cats keekin’ oot o’ a hole. He stands and just stares at me, and never speaks a word.
“‘What d’ ye want?’ I yells, for by this time I had lost a’ grip o’ mysel. ‘Speak, man, and dinna stand there like a dummy.’
“‘I want naething,’ he says in a mournfu’ sing-song
