"Gie's a sowp water," said John Graham—"I'm amaist deed."
The water seemed to revive him a little, and he stared wildly around him.
"D'ye see ought?" said he; "eh!—what's yon?"
"Hoot, the laddie's daft; there's nought yonder but just the holly buss, lookin, for a' the world, like a man body in the moonlicht."
"Eh, whow!—eh, whow!" groaned the poor boy to himself, burying his face in his hands. "Nelly!" said he, at last, slowly and solemnly, "tell me the truth! When a body sees a ghost, is it no a warnin that his ain time's no far aff?"
"Hout, na! I hae seen half-a-score ghosts mysel, and I'm no a bit the waur. Some folks threep that it's no canny to speak to a ghost; for, if ane does, there's sure some mischief to follow."
"Deil's i' the woman, clatterin about ghosts!" said the blacksmith; "it's silly havers aboot them athegither. What is a ghost? It canna be a body—for we ken that the bodies o' the dead are moulderin in the grave; it canna be a soul—for what could gar a happy speerit come back frae heaven to revisit this wearisome warld?—and frae the ither bit, Auld Clootie wad tak far owre guid care o' them to let e'er a speerit among them won back again. Na, na! there's nae sic thing as ghosts."
"Whether there's ghosts or no," said John Graham, solemnly, "I'm thinking I've seen ane the nicht. Gude be thankit, I didna speak till't!"
"Seen a ghost!" cried Nelly. "Eh, John!—whar was't?—what was't like?"
"Oh, like a holly buss, I'se warran," said the blacksmith, sneeringly; "or like a mucklecalf, or the shadow o' himsel."