“Dear, dear bairns, what’s asteer? Hout fy! Why, troth, ye’ll crush the poor auld body as braid as a blood–kercake.”
“Ah! the Brownie!—the Brownie!—the Brownie o’ Bodsbeck!” was whispered in horror from every tongue.
Davie Tait luckily recollecting that there was a door at hand, that led to a little milk–house in the other end of the house, and still another division farther from Brownie, led the way to it on all four, at full gallop, and took shelter in the farthest corner of that. All the rest were soon above him, but Davie bore the oppressive weight with great fortitude for some time, and without a murmur. Nanny was left last; she kept hold of the Bible that she had in her lap when she fell, and had likewise the precaution to light the lamp before she followed her affrighted associates. Nothing could be more appalling than her own entry after them—never was a figure more calculated to inspire terror, than Nanny coming carrying a feeble glimmering lamp, that only served to make darkness visible, while her pale raised–like features were bent over it, eager to discover her rueful compeers. The lamp was half–covered with her hand to keep it from being blown out; and her face, where only a line of light here and there was visible, was altogether horrible. Having discovered the situation, and the plight of the family, she bolted the door behind her, and advanced slowly up to them. “Dear bairns, what did ye see that has putten ye a’ this gate?”
“Lord sauf us!” cried Davie, from below, “we hae forespoke the Brownie—tak that elbow out o’ my guts a wee bit. They say, if ye speak o’ the deil, he’ll appear. ’Tis an unsonsy and dangerous thing to—Wha’s aught that knee? slack it a little. God guide us, sirs, there’s the weight of a mill–stane on aboon the links o’ my neck. If the Lord hae forsaken us, an’ winna heed our prayers, we may gie up a’ for tint thegither!—Nanny, hae ye boltit the door.”
“Ay hae I, firm an’ fast.”
“Than muve up a wee, sirs, or faith I’m gane—Hech–howe! the weight o’ sin an’ mortality that’s amang ye.”
Davie’s courage, that had begun to mount on hearing that the door was bolted, soon gave way again, when he raised his head, and saw the utter dismay that was painted on each countenance. “Hout, Maysey woman, dinna just mak sic faces—ye are eneuch to fright fock, foreby aught else,” said he to his wife.
“O Davie, think what a wheen poor helpless creatures we are!—Does Brownie ever kill ony body?”
“I wish it be nae a waur thing than Brownie,” said Dan.
“Waur than Brownie? Mercy on us!—Waur than Brownie!—What was it like?” was whispered round.