It chanced one night I fell in a muse beside the
fire and (that little air of Alan's coming back to my memory) began
to whistle. A hand was laid upon my arm, and the voice of Neil
bade me to stop, for it was not "canny musics."
"Not canny?" I asked. "How can that be?"
"Na," said he; "it will be made by a bogle and her wanting ta heid
upon his body." {13}
"Well," said I, "there can be no bogles here, Neil; for it's not
likely they would fash themselves to frighten geese."
"Ay?" says Andie, "is that what ye think of it! But I'll can tell
ye there's been waur nor bogles here."
"What's waur than bogles, Andie?" said I.
"Warlocks," said he. "Or a warlock at the least of it. And that's
a queer tale, too," he added. "And if ye would like, I'll tell it
ye."
To be sure we were all of the one mind, and even the Highlander
that had the least English of the three set himself to listen with
all his might.
THE TALE OF TOD LAPRAIK
MY faither, Tam Dale, peace to his banes, was a wild, sploring lad
in his young days, wi' little wisdom and little grace.
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