"There again! Aye the auld man! Now, the Lord forgi'e ye; for ye never met wi' him a' your life but ye baith angered him and disputed wi' him. But nae mair about it. Take ye Sandy Pot o' the Burnfit, the queer hairum skairum devil, Tam Oliver, Bauldy Elliot, and Bauldy Armstrong wi' you; and I'll take Jamie Telfer o' the Dodhead, Jock o' the Delorrin, Jock Anderson o' nae place, and Geordie Bryden o' every place, wi' me,—and good luck to the skin trade!"
It was one of those sort of winter days that often occur in January, when the weather is what the shepherds call "in the deadthraw," that is, in a struggle between frost and thaw. There was a dark cloud of rime resting on the tops of the hills, which shrouded them in a veil impervious to vision beyond the space of a few yards, and within that cloud the whole height appeared to be covered with millions of razors, every pile of bent and heath being loaded with ice on the one side, so that each had the exact resemblance to a razor blade, all of which appeared to be cast in the same mould, and of the same beautiful metal. The feet of the horses as they travelled through this made a jingling noise, as if they had been wading among crystal. As they came lower down on the hills the air became softer, and the ground was free of those ice-candles; but an uncommon gloom hung over holm and dale.
Old Peter Chisholm was walking on the green to the westward of his house, looking at his ewes coming bleating down from among the dark foldings of the rime, and saying to himself, "I wonder what can be word o' thae dirty herd callants the day, that they are letting the sheep come a' stringing in lang raws, and rairing and bleating, into the how o' the water that gate. The country's in a loose state e'now, for the strength is a' out o't; a raid o' thirty stout English thieves wad herry the hale water. An sic were to come this gate the day, my stock wad be a' gane."
Peter was proud of his ewes for all that, and, giving them a whistle, he threw the plaid over his shoulder, set his broad bonnet up before, and turned about to go home to look after the shepherd lads. As he turned his face to the north, he naturally cast his eye up toward the Limycleuch hills, where it instantly embraced the appalling sight of Will Laidlaw o' Craik, and his disguised compeers, with their fifteen horses, coming stretching down the ridge, right opposite to Pate Chisholm's hirsel of bonny wheel-horned ewes. The old man's eyes were dazzled in his head, and a paralytic affection seized his whole frame. "Lord pity us! Now see what's coming yonder," said Peter: "I tauld them aye what wad happen! but no ane wad heed me! O dool to the day! A man may soon hae muckle, and soon hae naething in this wearifu' country. O Dan, Simon, and Jock, the strength o' my house! wherefore are ye a' gane and left your gear to gang as it came! Dear bought! far sought! and little for the haudding."
By the time Peter got thus far with his soliloquy he was quite out of breath; for he was not only walking fast, but he was absolutely running towards home, with a sore stoop, and knees bent much forward. Still as he hobbled he continued to apostrophise in short sentences, as he could gather a little breath now and then to utter a small portion of the concatenation of repulsive ideas that presented themselves one after another—"Naething but trash left—Heh-heh—Rob-in-Laid-law!—I hae seen—Heh-heh the—day, but—Heh—that's—gane,—Lasses, too!—Hoh—oh!—O ay!—Half—breed—bring—up—Oh—Dan—Dan, &c. &c. Daughter! Bessy Chisholm—Heh! Are ye therein? May Chisholm—where's your titty? Poor tafferel ruined tawpies! What are ye gaun gaindering about that gate for, as ye didna ken whilk end o' ye were uppermost?" "That's easily kend father. What has come ower ye? Hae ye seen a warlock that ye are gaping and glowring at sic a dismal rate?" "War than ony warlock, ye twa glaikit idle hizzies. Off wi' jerkin and wilycoat, and on wi' doublet, breeks, and buskins instantly. Belt on bow, buckler, and brand, and stand for life, limb, gear, and maidhood, or a's gane in ae kink. O dool be to the day! dool be to the day! What are ye standing glinting, and looking at ane anither there for? Cast your een up to the Carlin-rigg, and see what's coming. A' harried! ravaged! and murdered! Come, come: Don your billies' claes; let us make some show; it will maybe save something. Warn the herd callants; let the stoutest of them arm, and the weakest rin and drive sheep and cattle an' a' out o' sight amang the clouds. O dool to the day! Na, na; for a' the houses that are in the country here they come straight! Nae winning by this place."
The lasses seeing their father in such a querulous mood, and the motely troop fast approaching, acquiesced in his mandate, and without delay mounted themselves each in a suit of their younger brother's clothes, while old Peter stood over them to see that they put all to rights, always giving such directions as these: "Come, come, come! strap, clasp, belt and buckle; and gude-sake fauld up your cuffs. Your arms hing at your shoulder blades as they were off joint. Hout fie! hout fie! Wha ever saw young chields hae sic luchts o' yellow hair hingin fleeing in the wind? Come, come, strap and string down; swaddle it round wi' sax dizzen o' wheelbands, and fasten a steel-belted fur cap ower aboon a'. Yare, yare! Lord sauff us! Here they come! What's to be our fate? Keep close for a wee while."
"Hilloa! Wha hauds the house!" was vollied from the door by the deep-toned voice of Will Laidlaw.
"There's nae body in but me, and I downa come to the door. Ye had better ride on," cried old Peter, in a weak tremulous voice.
"Wilt thou answer to thy name, or hast thou a name to answer to?" said Will, feigning to speak the broad Northumberland dialect, which sorted very ill with his tongue: "An thou be'st leel man and true, coome and bid thee guests wailcome. It is God speed, or spulzie wi' thee in three handclaps."
"Spulzie, quo the man!" exclaimed Peter: "The muckle fiend spulzie the unmannerly gab that spake it!"—and with that he came stooping over his staff, and coughing to the door, speaking in a quavering treble key. "A bonny like purpose! What wad ye spulzie frae a poor auld man that hasna as muckle atween him and the grave as will pay for howking it, and buy a hagabag winding sheet? Spulzie, quo he! That is a good joke!—he—he—he, (cough) hoh—hoh—hoh. I'm sae ill wi' that host! Eh? wha hae we a' here? Strangers, I think!