“Did ye ever hear the like of that, Mansie? Weel man, I’ll explain the hale history o’t to ye. Ye see,—’od! how sound that callant’s sleeping,” continued Isaac; “he’s snoring like a nine-year-auld.”
I was glad he had stoppit, for I was like to sink through the grund wi’ fear; but na, it wadna do.
“Dinna ye ken—sauf us! what a fearsome night this is! The trees ’ll be a’ broken. What a noise in the lum! I dare say there is some auld hag of a witch-wife gaun to come rumble doun’t. It’s no the first time, I’ll swear. Hae ye a silver sixpence? Wad ye like that?” he bawled up the chimley. “Ye’ll hae heard,” said he, “lang ago, that a wee murdered wean was buried—didna ye hear a voice?—was buried below that corner—the hearthstane there, where the laddie’s lying on?”
I had now lost my breath, so that I couldna stop him.
“Ye never heard tell o’t, didna ye? Weel, I’se tell’t ye.—Sauf us! what swurls o’ smoke coming down the chimley—I could swear something no canny’s stopping up the lum-head—gang out and see!”
At that moment, a clap like thunder was heard—the candle was driven ower—the sleeping laddie roared “Help!” and “Murder!” and “Thieves!” and as the furm on which we were sitting played flee backwards, cripple Isaac bellowed out, “I’m dead!—I’m killed! shot through the head!—oh, oh, oh!”
Surely I had fainted away; for when I came to mysel, I found my red comforter loosed; my face a’ wet—Isaac rubbing down my waistcoat with his sleeve—the laddie swigging ale out of a bicker—and the brisk brown stout, which, by casting its cork, had caused a’ the alarm, whizz—whizz—whizzing in the chimley-lug.—Mansie Wauch.
MARY WILSON.
On her white arm down sunk her head,
She shivered, sighed, and died.