"I fear ye're gaun awa frae us a'thegether. Hae ye been obliged to leave your ain wee house for want o' meat?"

"I had plenty of meat; but your master has turned me out of my cot at an hour's warning; he would not even suffer me to remain overnight, and I know of no place to which I can go."

"O, deil be i' the auld hard-heart.i.t loon! Heard ever ony body the like o' that?--What ailed him at ye? Hae ye done ony thing, Jeany, or said ony thing wrang?"

"It is that which distresses me. I have not been given to know my offence, and I can form no conjecture of it."

"If I had a hame, Jeany, ye should hae a share o't. I dinna ken o' ane I wad make mair welcome, even though I should seek a bed for mysel. War ye at my father's cottage, I could insure you a month's good hamely lodging, but it is far away, an' a wild road till't. I hae indeed an auld aunt about twa miles frae this, but she's no muckle to lippen to, unless it come frae her ain side o' the house; an' then she's a' hinny and joe. If ye like I'll gang that length wi' ye, an' try if she'll put ye up a while till we see how matters turn."

Jane was now so much confused in her mind, that, not being able to form any better measure for the present, she arose and followed her ragged conductor, and they arrived at his aunt's house before sun-set.

"My dear aunt," said Barnaby, "here is a very good an' a very helpless la.s.sie turned away frae her hame this same day, and has nae place to gang to; if ye'll be sae good, an' sae kind, as to let her stay a while wi' you, I will do ten times as muckle for you again some ither day."

"My faith, stirra!" said she, setting up a face like a fire-brand, and putting her arms a-kimbo--"My faith, man, but ye're soon begun to a braw trade!--How can ye hae the a.s.surance, ye brazen-faced rascal, to come rinning to me wi' a hizzy an' bairn at your tail, an' desire me to keep them for ye? I'll sooner see you an' her, an' that little limb, a' hung up by the links o' the neck, than ony o' ye sal crook a hough or break bread wi' me."

"There's for't now! There's for't! When the deil gets in, the fire maun flee out!--But aunt, I ken the first word's aye the warst wi' ye; ye're never sae ill as ye say. Think like a Christian. How wad ye hae likit, when ye war as young, to hae been turned out to the open hills wi' a bairn in your arms?"

"Hear to the tatterdemallion!--Christian! Bairn i' _my_ arms!--Ye impudent, hempy-looking tike that ye are! Pack out o' my house, I say, or I'll gar the bluid blind your een--ay, an' your bit toast.i.t pie too, wi' its piece barrell'd beef! Gang after your braw gallaunt, wi' your oxterfu' ket!--A bonny pair, troth!--A light head makes a heavy fitt!"

Barnaby retired with his back foremost, facing up his aunt all the way till fairly in the open fields, for fear of actual violence; but the epithets he bestowed on her there in the bitterness of his heart cannot here be set down. Jane trembled, yet was obliged to smile at his extravagance, for it had no bounds; while his aunt stood in her door, exulting and calling after him every thing that she could construe to mortify and provoke him. Tears for a s.p.a.ce choked his utterance; at length he forced out the following sentence in vollies.

"Wae--wae be to the--the auld randy--witch!--Had I but the--owrance o'

the land for ae day--I--I should gar some look about them. My master an' she hae this wark to answer for yet; they'll get their dichens for't some day--that's ae comfort! Come away, Jeany--they'll squeel for this--let them tak it!--Come away, Jeany."

"Where would you have me to go now, Barnaby?"

"Out-by aff that auld witch at ony rate! I'll hae ye put up though I should travel a hunder mile."

"Let me beseech you to return to your flock, and trouble yourself no farther about my infant and I. Heaven will take care of us."

"It disna look very like it just now. I dinna argy that it is wrang to trust in Heaven--only, gin we dinna use the means, Heaven's no obliged to work miracles for us. It is hard upon the gloamin', an' there is not another house near us; if we sit down and trust, ye'll hae to sleep in the fields, an' then baith you an' that dear bairn may get what ye will never cast. Let us make a wee exertion the night, and I hae resolved what ye shall do to-morrow."

"And what shall I do to-morrow, Barnaby?"

"Go with me to my parents; they hae nae doughter o' their ain, an' my mither will be muckle the better o' your help, an' they will baith be very glad to see you, Jeany. Gudeness be thankit! the warld's no just a'

alike. I' the meantime my pickle gimmers dinna need muckle at my hand just now, sae I'll gae an' ax my master for a day to see my fock, and gang fit for fit wi' ye the morn."

She fixed her humid eyes on him in pleasing astonishment; she had never before witnessed such earnest and disinterested benevolence; the proposal was made in such a way that she could not refuse it, else she saw that she would give a kind and feeling heart pain. "I have a great mind to make trial of your expedient, good Barnaby," said she; "all parts of the country are now alike to me; I must go somewhere; and as it is but a hard day's journey, I will go and see the parents of so good a lad."

"Now that's spoken like yoursel, an' I'm glad to hear ye say't--But what's to come o' ye the night?"

"I have some victuals with me, and I can lie in the fields this pleasant night; it is a good one to begin with, for who knows what's before one?"

"I canna think o' that ava. If ye war to lay that bonny red cheek on the cauld dew, an' the wind blawin' i' little George's face, there wad some sleep nane the night; but there is a little snug sheep-house in our Hope, a wee bit frae this; let us gang there, an' I will take little George in my bosom, an' hap _you_ wi' my plaid.--O, but I forgot--that will never do," continued he, in a melancholy tone, and looking at his ragged doublet and riven clothes. Away, however, to the sheep-cot they went, where they found plenty of old hay, and Jane instantly proposed that he should go home and leave them alone, get leave of his master, and join them next morning.

"But I dinna ken about it," said Barnaby, hanging his head and looking serious; "that linn's an unco uncanny place for bogles; an' by this time o' night they'll be keeking ower the black haggs o' the Cairny Moss to see what's gaun on. If ony o' them war to come on ye here, they might terrify you out o' your wits, or carry ye baith aff, lith and limb--Is the callant baptized?"

Jane answered in the affirmative, smiling; and farther a.s.sured him, that he needed to be under no apprehensions on account of spirits, for she was perfectly at ease on that score, having a good a.s.surance that no spirit had power over her.

"Ay, ye are maybe a gospel minister's bairn, or an auld Cameronian; that is, I mean come o' the saints and martyrs--they had unco power--I hae heard o' some o' them that fought the deil, hand to fist, for an hour and forty minutes, and dang him at the last--yethered him and yerked him till he couldna mou' another curse. But these times are gane! yet it's no sae lang sin' auld Macmillan (ye hae heard o' auld Macmillan?) was coming through that linn i' the derk wi' twa o' his elders an' they spak o' the bogle, but Macmillan jeered at it; an' when they came to the tap o' yon steep brae they stoppit to take their breath; and there they heard a loud nichering voice come out o' the howe o' the linn, an' it cried,

"Ha, ha, Macky! had ye been your lane, Ye should never hae crackit through either wood or water again."

"Say ye sae, fause loun," quo' the auld hardy veteran; "than be at your speed, for I'll gang through that wood my lane in spite o' your teeth, an' a' h.e.l.l at your back." An' what does the carl do, but leaves his twa elders yonder, standin glowrin i' the howe night, an' trodges his way back through the linn to the very farrest side o't--said the hunder-an'-ninth psalm against him, an' came back wi' never a turned hair on his head. But yet for a' that, Jeany, dinna lippen ower muckle to bygane things; there have been fairy raids i' the Hope, an' mony ane ill fleyed. I could tell ye sic a story of a wicked laird here!"

Jane entreated him not to tell it that night, but amuse them with it to-morrow as they journeyed. He was pa.s.sive--left them his plaid--went home and got leave of absence from his master for two days, but hinted nothing of what had pa.s.sed in the Hope. He was again back at the sheep-house by the time the sun arose; and, early as it was, he found Jane walking without, while little George was sleeping soundly on the hay, wrapped in the plaid. She said she had got a sound and short sleep, but awakening at dawn she had stepped out to taste the fresh mountain air, and see the sun rise. When they lifted the child he was somewhat fretful--a thing not customary with him; but he was soon pacified, and they proceeded without delay on their journey.

Until once they had cleared the boundaries of the farm of Todburn, Barnaby was silent, and looked always around with a jealous eye, as if dreading a surprise. When his fellow-traveller asked the reasons of his anxiety, he remained silent; but as soon as they got fairly into the next glen he became as gay and talkative as ever. She deemed it to be some superst.i.tious dread that discomposed him, but was left to guess the cause.

"Jeany," said he, "you said you had a short and sound sleep last night--so had I. Pray, did you dream ony?"

"Not that I remember of; but I put no faith in dreams."

"Weel, how different fock's bodies, or their souls, or something about them maun be frae ane anither! For I'm come this length in the warld, an' I never yet dreamed a regular dream, in a sound sleep, that I didna get as plainly read to me as the A B C. I had a strange dream last night, Jeany, an' it was about you. I am sure I'll live to see it fulfilled; but what it means even now, I canna in the least comprehend."

"Well, Barnaby, suppose you give us it. I have read the Book of Knowledge, and may lend you a hand at the interpretation."

"I thought I saw ye lying in a lonesome place, an' no ane in the wide world to help or heed ye, till there was a poor bit black moot.i.t-like corby came down frae the hills an' fed ye. I saw it feeding ye, an' I thought ye war as content.i.t, an' as bonny, an' as happy as ever. But ere ever I wist, down comes there a great majestic eagle some gate frae about the e'e-bree o' the heavens, an' cleeks ye away up to the lowne bieldy side o' a sunny hill, where ye had a' braw things. An' I dinna ken how it was, I thought ye war a she eagle sitting amang your young, an' I thought aye ye war a woman too, an' I coudna separate the tane frae the t.i.ther; but the poor bit plott.i.t forefoughen corby gaed alang w'ye, an' ye war kind to him, an' fed him in your turn, an' I saw him hoppin, an' pickin, an' dabbin round about ye, as happy as ever I saw a beast, an' the erne didna chase him away, but was kind to him; but somehow, or I wakened, I thought it was the confusedest thing I ever saw. Na, ye needna laugh nor smile, for we'll baith live to see it read."

"Believe me, Barnaby, it will never be apparent; you may force circ.u.mstances to agree with it, but these will not be obvious ones."

"It's needless for me to arguy wi' you unless I can bring things hame to your ain conscience; but can ye say that ye never got a dream read?"

"Never that I noted; for I never thought of them."

"Or, for instance, have ye never, when you saw a thing for the first time, had a distinct recollection of having seen it sometime afore?"

"Never."

"How wonderfu'! I have done so a thousand an' a thousand times. I have remembered of having seen exactly the same scene, the same faces, the same looks, and heard the same words, though I knew all the while that I never had seen them in reality; and that I could only have seen them in some former vision, forgotten, or perhaps never remembered."

She now saw clearly that dreams, visions, and apparitions, were Barnaby's region of existence--His very thoughts and language seemed elevated whenever he entered on the subject; and it being a trait in the shepherd's character that she had never thought of before, she resolved to encourage it, and asked for a single instance of that strange foresight alluded to.

"You'll surely acknowledge," said Barnaby, "that it is impossible I could ever have come up that strait swire before with a bairn on my back, an' a young woman gaun beside me exactly like you; an' that while in that condition, I should have met wi' a bull an' a cow coming out the path by themsels, an' thought o' yon craig for a shelter to the bairn that I was carrying; yet when that happened about an hour ago, I remembered so distinctly of having gone through it some time long before, that I knew every step that would next be taken, and every word that would next be said. It made me very thoughtful; but I can remember nothing of where or when I dreamed it, or what was the issue.

"There was another instance that I'll never forget. The winter afore last, I gaed out wi' my father in the morning to help him to gather the sheep; for the rime had sitten down, an' the clouds war creepin, and we kend the drift wad be on. Weel, away we sets, but a' the hills were wrappit i' the clouds o' rime as they had been rowed in a fleece o'

frosty woo, an' we couldna see a stime; we were little better than fock gaun _graeping_ for sheep; an' about twal o'clock, (I mind it weel,) just when I was in the very straitest and steepest part o' the Shielbrae-Hope, the wind gae a swirl, an' I lookit up an' saw the cloud s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up to heaven--the brow o' the hill cleared, an' I saw like a man cringing and hanging ower the point o' the rock, an' there was seven white ewes an' a black ane gaun bleetin in a raw yont aneath him. That was a'; but the sight strak me motionless. I mindit that I had seen the very thing afore; the very clouds--the very rocks--an' the man standing courin' and keekin' ower, wi' the white rime hingin' about his lugs like feathers; an' I mindit that it endit ill--it endit awsomely!--for I thought it endit in death. I could speak nae mair a' that day; for I expect.i.t that either my father or I wad never gang hame living. He aften said to me, 'What ails ye, callant? Are ye weel eneugh? Od, ye're gane stupid.' We saved some sheep, an' lost some, like mony ane, for it was a dreadfu' afternoon; however, we wan baith safe hame. But that night, afore we gaed to bed, our neighbour, auld Robin Armstrang, was brought into our house a corp. Our fock had amaist gane out o' their judgment; but the very features, the white rime frozen about the cauld stiff een, an' the iceshogles hangin' at the grey hair, war nae new sight to me: I had seen them a' before, I kendna when. Ah, Jeany! never tell me that we haena some communication wi' intelligences, far ayont our capacity to comprehend."

The seriousness of Barnaby's manner made it evident to his fellow traveller that he believed in the reality of every word he had said; there was an inconceivable sublimity in the whole idea, and she fancied herself going to reside, perhaps for a season, in the regions of imagination and romance, and she asked him if his father and mother had faith in dreams an' apparitions?

"Aye, that they hae," answered he; "ye had need to tak care how ye dispute the existence of fairies, brownies, and apparitions there; ye may as weel dispute the gospel o' Sant Mathew. We dinna believe in a'

the gomral fantastic bogles an' spirits that fley light-headed fock up an' down the country, but we believe in a' the apparitions that warn o'

death, that save life, an' that discover guilt. I'll tell you what we believe, ye see.

"The deil an' his adgents, they fash nane but the gude fock; the Cameronians, an' the prayin' ministers, an' sic like. Then the bogles, they are a better kind o' spirits, they meddle wi' nane but the guilty; the murderer, an' the mansworn, an' the cheater o' the widow an'

fatherless, they do for _them_. Then the fairies, they're very harmless; they're keener o' fun an' frolic than aught else; but if fock neglect kirk ordinances, they see after _them_. Then the brownie, he's a kind o' half-spirit half-man; he'll drudge an' do a' the wark about the town for his meat, but then he'll no work but when he likes for a' the king's dominions. That's precisely what we a' believe here awa', auld an'

young; an' I'll tell ye twa or three stories that we a' ken to be true, an' which I wadna misbelieve for a' that I'm worth.