"The crabbitness o' that body beats the world!" said the smith to himself, as the Dominie went halting homeward.
The very next man that entered the smithy door was no other than John Broadcast, the new Laird's hind, who had also been hind to the late laird for many years, and who had no sooner said his errand than the smith addressed him thus:—"Have you ever seen this ghost that there is such a noise about?"
"Ghost! Na, goodness be thankit, I never saw a ghost in my life, save aince a wraith. What ghost do you mean?"
"So you never saw nor heard tell of any apparition about Wineholm Place, lately?"
"No, I hae reason to be thankfu' I have not."
"Weel, that beats the world! Whow, man, but ye are sair in the dark! Do you no think there are siccan things in nature, as folk no coming fairly to their ends, John?"
"Goodness be wi' us! Ye gar a' the hairs o' my head creep, man. What's that you're saying?"
"Had ye never ony suspicions o' that kind, John?"
"No; I canna say that I had."
"None in the least? Weel, that beats the world!"