“I’m glad o’ it, laddie. Now will Grannie take down the good Book and read a bit?”
Grannie did.
The talk now took a cheerier turn. Old Nancy, knowing how painfully superstitious Dugald was, refrained from introducing anything more in the shape of either brownie or spunkie. And so a pleasant hour was spent, till the old “wag-at-the-wa’” pointed to the hour of twelve, and warned Kenneth and his friend it was high time to commence retracing their steps across the moor.
Chapter Four.
Gloaming in the Glen—Kennie’s Cave.
“Gloaming o’er the glen is falling;
Little birds have ceased to sing,
Flowerets now their petals faulding
As night descends on dewy wing.”
Anon.
