“It’s needless for ye to waste your wind clatterin English, man,” said Croudy, “for foul fa’ my gab gin I say ony sic word. She didna only change me intil an ill-faurd he-sow, but guidit me shamefully ill a’ the time I was a goossy—kickit me wi’ her fit, an’ yerkit me wi’ a rung till I squeeled, and then leuch at me—An’ warst ava, gae the butcher her gairtens to bind me, that he might get me bled, an’ plottit, an’ made into beef-steaks—de’il be on her gin I be nae about wi’ her now!”
Gale, hoping that he would relent if he saw her woeful plight, besought of him to go and see her; but this he absolutely refused, for fear lest she should “turn him into some daft-like beast,” as he expressed it. “Let her tak it,” said he, “she weel deserves a’ that she’s gaun to get—the sooner she gets a fry the better—Odd, there’s nae body sure o’ himsel a minute that’s near her—I never gang ower the door but I think I’ll come in a goossy or a cuddy-ass—How wad ye like to gang plowin up the gittars for worms and dockan-roots wi’ your nose, as I did!”
It was in vain that Gale assured him of her innocence, and told him how religious she was, and how well she loved him. Croudy remained obstinate.
“I wadna gie a boddle,” said he, “for a woman’s religion, nor for her love neither—mere traps for moudiworts. They may gar a fool like you trow that ae thing’s twa, an’ his lug half a bannock—Gin I wad rue an’ save her life, it wadna be lang till I saw her carrying you out like a taed in the erntings, an’ thrawin ye ower the ass-midden.”
Gale asked if he would save her, if she would pledge herself to marry him, and love him for ever?
“Me marry a witch!” said Croudy—“A bonny hand she would make o’ me, sooth! Whenever I displeased her, turn me into a beast—But ilka woman has that power,” added he with a grin,—“an’ I fancy few o’ them mislippin it. The first kind thought I ever had toward a woman made a beast o’ me—an’ it will do the same wi’ every man as weel as me, gin he wist it. As she has made her bed, she may lie down. I shall fling a sprot to the lowe.”
Gale was obliged to give him up, but in the deepest bitterness of soul he gave him his malison, which, he assured him, would not fall to the ground. Pery was tried, and condemned to be choaked and burnt at the stake on the following day; and Croudy, instead of relenting, was so much afraid of himself, that he was all impatience until the cruel scene should be acted. His behaviour had, however, been witnessed and detested by some of whom he was not aware; for that very evening, as he was on his way home, he beheld a nymph coming to meet him, whom he took for Pery, dressed in her Sunday clothes, for one of the mysterious maids had taken her form. He was terrified out of his wits when he beheld her at liberty, and falling flat on his face, he besought her, with a loud voice, to have mercy on him.
“Such as you have bestowed,” said she; and giving him three strokes with her wand, he was changed into a strong brindled cat, in which form, he remains to this day; and the place of his abode is no secret to the relater of this tale. He hath power one certain night in the year to resume his natural shape, and all the functions of humanity; and that night he dedicates to the relation of the adventures of each preceding year. Many a secret and unsuspected amour, and many a strange domestic scene, hath he witnessed, in his capacity of mouser, through so many generations; and a part of these are now in the hands of a gentleman of this country, who intends making a good use of them.
Poor Pery, having thus fallen a victim to the superstition of the times, she wist not how, was pitied and shunned by all except Gale, whom nothing could tear from her side; and all the last day and night that were destined for her to live, they lay clasped in each other’s arms. While they were thus conversing in the most tender and affectionate way, Pery told her lover a dream that she had seen the night before. She dreamed, she said, that they were changed into two beautiful birds, and had escaped away into a wild and delightful mountain, where they lived in undecaying happiness and felicity, and fed on the purple blooms of the heath.
“O that some pitying power—some guardian angel over the just and the good, would but do this for us!” said Gale, “and release my dearest Pery from this ignominious death!” and as he said this, he clasped his beloved maiden closer and closer in his arms. They both wept, and, in this position, they sobbed themselves sound asleep.