“This is a cauld an’ an eerie night to be sae late on Anneslie Muir!” and immediately it glided away. Andrew lay a few minutes in a trance; and then, arising from his cold bed, ran hastily towards the cottage of his mistress. His hair stood on end, and the vapours of the night sunk chill upon his brow as he lifted up the latch and flung himself upon an oaken seat.
“Preserve us!” cried the old woman. “Why, ye are mair than aneugh to frighten a body out o’ her wits! To come in wi’ sic a flaunt and a fling, bare-sconced, and the red bluid spatter’d a’ o’er your new leather jerkin! Shame on you,[Pg 138] Andrew! in what mishanter hast thou broken that fule’s head o’ thine?”
“Peace, mither!” said the young man, taking breath, “I hae seen the bogle!”
The old lady had a long line of reproaches, drawn up in order of march, between her lips; but the mention of the bogle was the signal for disbanding them. A thousand questions poured in, in rapid succession. “How old was she? How was she dressed? Who was she like? What did she say?”
“She was a tall thin woman, about seven feet high!”
“Oh Andrew!” cried Effie.
“As ugly as sin!”
“Other people tell a different story,” said Effie.
“True, on my Bible oath! And then her beard——”
“A beard, Andrew!” shrieked Effie: “a woman with a beard! For shame, Andrew!”