“Oh, my horse took it at a bound.”
“An he had broken your neck it might hae been a gude job and saved the hangman trouble,” growled old Andy.
“Thanks,” laughed the stranger, “but there was not a chance of it; my horse is a famous hunter. Will you direct me on my road?”
“Where did you say you were going?”
“To Old Lyon Hall.”
“To Old Lyon Hall!—Jenny, woman, here is anither one! It’s there they are holding the witches’ dance and no wedding, for the warlocks and witches that flit by this way are no wedding guests,” said the old man, turning to his wife.
“Will you be so good as to direct me to the Hall?” courteously persisted the traveller.
“Oh, ay, I’ll direct ye fast enough; but be ye’ one o’ the wedding guests?”
“No, not exactly,” laughed the man.
“Hark to him Jenny! how much he talks like the ither one! Then what’s your business at the Hall the night? It’s unco late to make a visit, and varry oncivil to go oninvited where they’re handing a bridal. Wouldna the morn serve your turn just as weel?” mockingly inquired Andy.