them; indeed he always disavowed any feeling of disrespect towards
them if they existed, saying that he was a man of peace himself, and
anxious to live peaceably with whatever neighbours he had, but that
till he had seen one of the _Daoine Shi_[2] he could not believe in
them.

[Footnote 2: _Daoine Shi_ (pronounced _Dheener Shee_) = Men of Peace.]

Now one afternoon, between Hallowmas and Yule, it chanced that the
Laird, being out on the hills looking for some cattle, got parted from
his men and dogs and was overtaken by a mist, in which, familiar as
the country was to him, he lost his way.

In vain he raised his voice high, and listened low, no sound of man or
beast came back to him through the thickening vapour.

Then night fell, and darkness was added to the fog, so that Brockburn
needed to sound every step with his _rung_[3] before he took it.

[Footnote 3: _Rung_ = a thick stick.]

Suddenly light footsteps pattered beside him, then Something rubbed
against him, then It ran between his legs. The delighted Laird made
sure that his favourite collie had found him once more.

"Wow, Jock, man!" he cried; "but ye needna throw me on my face. What's
got ye the night, that _you_ should lose your way in a bit mist?"

To this a voice from the level of his elbow replied, in piping but
patronizing tones;

"Never did I lose my way in a mist since the night that Finn crossed
over to Ireland in the Dawn of History. Eh, Laird! I'm weel acquaint
with every bit path on the hill-side these hundreds of years, and I'll
guide ye safe hame, never fear!"

The hairs on Brockburn's head stood on end till they lifted his broad
bonnet, and a damp chill broke out over him that was not the fog. But,
for all that, he stoutly resisted the evidence of his senses, and only
felt about him for the collie's head to pat, crying:

"Bark! Jock, my mannie, bark! Then I'll recognize your voice, ye ken.
It's no canny to hear ye speak like a Christian, my wee doggie."

"I'm nae your doggie, I'm a Man of Peace," was the reply. "Dinna
miscall your betters, Brockburn: why will ye not credit our existence,
man?"

"Seein's believin'," said the Laird, stubbornly; "but the mist's ower
thick for seein' the night, ye ken."

"Turn roun' to your left, man, and ye'll see," said the Dwarf, and
catching Brockburn by the arm, he twisted him swiftly round three
times, when a sudden blaze of light poured through the mist, and
revealed a crag of the mountain w