"Ay, has been," answered the first, with somewhat of emphasis.
"I am sure, neighbour Ovens," said the hostess, "the Hazlewoods of Hazlewood, though they are a very gude auld family in the county, never thought, till within these twa score o' years, of evening themselves till the Ellangowans—Wow, woman, the Bertrams of Ellangowan are the auld Dingawaies lang syne—there is a sang about ane o' them marrying a daughter of the King of Man; it begins—
"Blythe Bertram's ta'en him ower the faem,
To wed a wife, and bring her hame—
I daur say Mr. Skreigh can sing us the ballant."
"Gudewife," said Skreigh, gathering up his mouth, and sipping his tiff of brandy punch with great solemnity, "our talents were gien us to other use than to sing daft auld sangs sae near the Sabbath day."
"Hout fie, Mr. Skreigh; I'se warrant I hae heard you sing a blythe sang on Saturday at e'en before now.—But as for the chaise, Deacon, it hasna been out of the coachhouse since Mrs. Bertram died, that's sixteen or seventeen years sin syne—. Jock Jabos is away wi' a chaise of mine for them;—I wonder he's no come back. It's pit mirk [*Pitch dark]—but there's no an ill turn on the road but twa, and the brigg ower Warroch burn is safe eneugh, if he baud to the right side. But then there's Heavieside-brae, that's just a murder for post-cattle—but Jock kens the road brawly." [*Very well]
A loud rapping was heard at the door. "That's no them. I dinna hear the wheels.—Grizzel, ye limmer, gang to the door."
"It's a single gentleman," whined out Grizzel; "maun I take him into the parlour?"
"Foul be in your feet, then; it'll be some English rider. Coming without a servant at this time o' night!—Has the ostler ta'en the horse?—Ye may light a spunk o' fire in the red room."
"I wish, ma'am," said the traveller, entering the kitchen, "you would give me leave to warm myself here, for the night is very cold."