"No, no," said the Deacon, "ye're clean out there, Luckie—for the young Laird was stown away by a randy gipsy woman they ca'd Meg Merrilies,—I mind her looks weel,—in revenge for Ellangowan having gar'd her be drumm'd through Kippletringan for stealing a silver spoon."
"If ye'll forgie me, Deacon," said the precentor, "ye're e'en as far wrang as the gudewife."
"And what is your edition of the story, sir?" said the stranger, turning to him with interest.
"That's maybe no sae canny to tell," said the precentor, with solemnity.
Upon being urged, however, to speak out, he preluded with, two or three large puffs of tobacco-smoke, and out of the cloudy sanctuary which these whiffs formed around him, delivered the following legend, having cleared his voice with one or two hems, and imitating, as near as he could, the eloquence which weekly thundered over his head from the pulpit.
"What we are now to deliver, my brethren,—hem—hem,—I mean, my good friends,—was not done in a corner, and may serve as an answer to witch-advocates, atheists, and misbelievers of all kinds.—Ye must know that the worshipful Laird of Ellangowan was not so preceese as he might have been in clearing his land of witches (concerning whom it is said, 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live'), nor of those who had familiar spirits, and consulted with divination, and sorcery, and lots, which is the fashion with the Egyptians, as they ca' themsells, and other unhappy bodies, in this our country. And the Laird was three years married without having a family-and he was sae left to himself, that it was thought he held ower muckle troking [*Trafficking] and communing wi' that Meg Merrilies, wha was the maist notorious, witch in a' Galloway and Dumfriesshire baith."
"Aweel I wot there's something in that," said Mrs. Mac-Candlish; "I've kenn'd him order her twa' glasses o' brandy in this very house."
"Aweel, gudewife, then the less I lee.—Sae the lady was wi' bairn at last, and in the night when she should have been delivered, there comes to the door of the ha' house—the Place of Ellangowan as they ca'd—an ancient man, strangely habited, and asked for quarters. His head, and his legs, and his arms were bare, although it was winter time o' the year, and he had a gray beard three quarters lang. Weel, he was admitted; and when the lady was delivered, he craved to know the very moment of the hour of the birth, and he went out and consulted the stars. And when he came back, he tell'd the Laird, that the Evil One wad have power over the knave-bairn, that was that night born, and he charged him that the babe should be bred up in the ways of piety, and that he should aye hae a godly minister at his elbow, to pray wi' the bairn and for him. And the aged man vanished away, and no man of this country saw mair o' him."
"Now, that will not pass," said the postilion, who, at a respectful distance, was listening to the conversation, "begging Mr. Skreigh's and the company's pardon,—there was no sae mony hairs on the warlock's face as there's on Letter-Gae's [*The precentor is called by Allan Ramsay,—"The Letter-Gae of haly rhyme.">[ ain at this moment; and he had as gude a pair o' boots as a man need streik on his legs, and gloves too;—and I should understand boots by this time, I think."
"Whisht, Jock," said the landlady.