Liethin Ha’ was, in a few years, in ruins, and ‘bonnie Bodsbeck’ flourished under the luck-bringing patronage of the brownie.”[(64)]
In the olden days there was a brownie attached to the family of Maxwell of Dalswinton said to be so energetic as to easily perform the work of ten men, and threshing with such vigour as to keep the servants awake at nights with the dirling of its elfin flail.
He seems to have been passionately devoted to the service of the Laird’s daughter, a strikingly comely dame. A lover naturally appeared, and their meetings were made all the easier through Brownie’s help, and eventually he saw his beloved lady married to a husband he heartily approved of.
“In course of time the hour of need came nigh, and a servant was sent away to bring the ‘canny wife.’ The night was dark as a December night could be, and the wind was heavy among the groves of oak. The brownie, enraged at the loitering serving-man, wrapped himself in his lady’s fur cloak; and though the Nith was foaming high flood, his steed, impelled by supernatural spur and whip, passed it like an arrow. Mounting the dame behind him, he took the deep water back again to the amazement of the worthy woman, who beheld the red waves tumbling around her, yet the steed’s foot-locks were dry.
‘Ride nae by the auld pool,’ quo’ she, ‘lest we should meet wi’ Brownie.’
He replied—‘Fear nae, dame, ye’ve met a’ the brownies ye will meet.’
Placing her down at the hall gate, he hastened to the stable, where the servant lad was just pulling on his boots; he unbuckled the bridle from his steed, and gave him a most afflicting drubbing.”
There is a sequel to this story which does not end happily: “It was the time of the Reformation; and a priest, more zealous than wise, exhorted the Laird to have this Imp of Heathenism baptised, to which he in an evil hour consented, and the worthy reforming saint concealed himself in the barn to surprise the brownie at his work. He appeared like a little, wrinkled, ancient man, and began his nightly moil. The priest leapt from his ambush, and dashed the baptismal water in his face, solemnly repeating the set form of Christian rite. The poor brownie set up a frightful and agonising yell, and instantly vanished never to return.”[(65)]
Allan Cunningham further tells of a brownie of a humorous turn of mind who held sway about Newabbey:—“The Abbey lands in the parish of Newabbey, were the residence of a very sportive one. He loved to be, betimes, somewhat mischievous. Two lasses, having made a fine bowlful of buttered brose, had taken it into the byre to sup while it was yet dark. In the haste of concealment they had brought but one spoon; so they placed the bowl between them, and took a spoonful by turns.
‘I hae got but three sups,’ cried the one, ‘an’ it’s a’ done!’