The smith remained behind, concerting with the doctor how to controvert the dominie’s profound scheme of unshrouding the dead; and certainly the smith’s plan, viewed professionally, was not amiss—
“O, ye ken, sir, we maun just gie him another heat, and try to saften him to reason, for he’s just as stubborn as Muirkirk airn. He beats the world for that.”
While the two were in confabulation, Johnston, the old house servant, came in, and said to the doctor—
“Sir, your servants are going to leave the house, every one, this night, if you cannot fall on some means to divert them from it. The old laird is, it seems, risen again, and come back among them, and they are all in the utmost consternation. Indeed, they are quite out of their reason. He appeared in the stable to Broadcast, who has been these two hours dead with terror, but is now recovered, and telling such a tale downstairs as never was heard from the mouth of man.”
“Send him up here,” said the doctor. “I will silence him. What does the ignorant clown mean by joining in this unnatural clamour?”
John came up, with his broad bonnet in his hand, shut the door with hesitation, and then felt thrice with his hand if it was really shut.
“Well, John,” said the doctor, “what absurd lie is this that you are vending among your fellow-servants, of having seen a ghost?”
John picked some odds and ends of threads out of his bonnet, and said nothing.
“You are an old superstitious dreaming dotard,” continued the doctor; “but if you propose in future to manufacture such stories, you must, from this instant, do it somewhere else than in my service, and among my domestics. What have you to say for yourself?”
“Indeed, sir, I hae naething to say but this, that we hae a’ muckle reason to be thankfu’ that we are as we are.”