r
mother had been busy making sausters, and hanging them up in the chimney
to dry, and then, tired out, had retired to rest. Finding herself very
hungry after her long day on the knoll, the girl took down pudding after
pudding, fried and ate them, and at last went to bed too. The mother was
up first the next morning, and when she came into the kitchen and found
her sausters all gone, and the seven hanks of yarn lying beautifully
smooth and bright upon the table, she ran out of the house wildly,
crying out--

"My daughter's spun seven, seven, seven,
My daughter's eaten seven, seven, seven,
And all before daylight."

A laird who chanced to be riding by, heard the exclamation, but could
not understand it; so he rode up and asked the gudewife what was the
matter, on which she broke out again--

"My daughter's spun seven, seven, seven,
My daughter's eaten seven, seven, seven

before daylight; and if ye dinna believe me, why come in and see it."
The laird, he alighted and went into the cottage, where he saw the yarn,
and admired it so much he begged to see the spinner.

The mother dragged in her girl. He vowed he was lonely without a wife,
and had long been in search of one who was a good spinner. So their
troth was plighted, and the wedding took place soon afterwards, though
the bride was in great fear that she should not prove so clever at her
spinning-wheel as he expected. But old Dame Habetrot came to her aid.
"Bring your bonny bridegroom to my cell," said she to the young bride
soon after her marriage; "he shall see what comes o' spinning, and never
will he tie you to the spinning-wheel."

Accordingly the bride led her husband the next day to the flowery knoll,
and bade him look through the self-bored stone. Great was his surprise
to behold Habetrot dancing and jumping over her rock, singing all the
time this ditty to her sisterhood, while they kept time with their
spindles:--

"We who live in dreary den,
Are both rank and foul to see?
Hidden from the glorious sun,
That teems the fair earth's canopie:
Ever must our evenings lone
Be spent on the colludie stone.

"Cheerless is the evening grey
When Causleen hath died away,
But ever bright and ever fair
Are they who breathe this evening air,
And lean upon the self-bored stone
Unseen by all but me alone."

The song ended, Scantlie Mab asked Habetrot wh