“What is it?” asked Donal.
“Ay, what is ’t? Tell ye me that gien ye can!” she returned “It’s jist a chappin’, an’ God’s trowth, it’s a’ I ken aboot the same! It comes, I believe I’m safe to say, ilka nicht; but I couldna tak my aith upo’ ’t, I hae sae entirely drappit peyin’ ony attention til ’t. There’s things aboot mony an auld hoose, maister Grant, ’at’ll tak the day o’ judgment to explain them. But sae lang as they keep to their ain side o’ the wa’, I dinna see I need trible my heid aboot them. Efter the experrience I had as a yoong lass, awa’ doon in Englan’ yon’er, at a place my auntie got me intil—for she kenned a heap o’ gran’ fowk throuw bein’ hersel’ sae near conneckit wi’ them as hoosekeeper i’ the castel here—efter that, I’m sayin’, I wadna need to be that easy scaret.”
“What was it?” said lady Arctura. “I don’t think you ever told me.”
“No, my dear leddy; I wud never hae thoucht o’ tellin’ ye ony sic story sae lang as ye was ower yoong no to be frichtit at it; for ’deed I think they’re muckle to blame ’at tells bairns the varra things they’re no fit to hear, an’ fix the dreid afore the sense. But I s’ tell ye the noo, gien ye care to hear. It’s a some awsome story, but there’s something unco fulish-like intil ’t as weel. I canna say I think muckle ’o craturs ’at trible their heids aboot their heids!—But that’s tellin’ aforehan’!”
Here the good woman paused, thoughtful.
“I am longing to hear your story, mistress Brookes,” said Donal, supposing she needed encouragement.
“I’m but thinkin’ hoo to begin,” she returned, “sae as to gie ye a richt haud o’ the thing.—I’m thinkin’ I canna do better nor jist tell ’t as it cam to mysel’!—Weel, ye see, I was but a yoong lass, aboot—weel, I micht be twenty, mair or less—whan I gaed til the place I speak o’. It was awa’ upo’ the borders o’ Wales, like as gien folk ower there i’ Perth war doobtfu’ whether sic or sic a place was i’ the hielan’s or the lowlan’s. The maister o’ the hoose was a yoong man awa’ upo’ ’s traivels, I kenna whaur—somewhaur upo’ the continent, but that’s a mickle word; an’ as he had the intention o’ bein’ awa’ for some time to come, no carin’ to settle doon aff han’ an’ luik efter his ain, there was but ane gey auld wuman to hoosekeep, an’ me to help her, an’ a man or twa aboot the place to luik efter the gairden—an’ that was a’. Hoose an’ gairden was to let, an’ was intil the han’s o’ ane o’ thae agents, as they ca’ them, for that same purpose—to let, that is, for a term o’ years. Weel, ae day there cam a gentleman to luik at the place, an’ he was sae weel pleased wi’ ’t—as weel he micht, for eh, it was a bonnie place!—aye lauchin’ like, whaur this place is aye i’ the sulks!—na, no aye! I dinna mean that, my leddy, forgettin’ at it’s yours!—but ye maun own it taks a heap o’ sun to gar this auld hoose here luik onything but some dour—an’ I beg yer pardon, my leddy!”
“You are quite right, mistress Brookes!” said Arctura with a smile. “If it were not for you it would be dour dour.—You do not know, Mr. Grant—mistress Brookes herself does not know how much I owe her! I should have gone out of my mind for very dreariness a hundred times but for her.”
“The short an’ the lang o’ ’t was,” resumed mistress Brookes, “that the place was let an’ the place was ta’en, mickle to the satisfaction o’ a’ pairties concernt. The auld hoosekeeper, she bein’ a fixtur like, was to bide, an’ I was to bide as weel, under the hoosekeeper, an’ haein’ nothing to do wi’ the stranger servan’s.
“They cam. There was a gentleman o’ a middle age, an’ his leddy some yoonger nor himsel’, han’some but no bonnie—but that has naething to do wi’ my tale ’at I should tak up yer time wi’ ’t, an’ it growin’ some late.”