broonie, anither cam; for there's the wark done, the same's ever."

"Damn the cratur!" cried Fergus.

"Whisht, whisht, laddie! he's maybe hearin' ye this meenute. An'
gien he binna, there's ane 'at is, an' likesna sweirin'."

"I beg yer pardon, auntie, but it's jist provokin'!" returned
Fergus, and therewith recounted the tale of his night's watch,
omitting mention only of his feelings throughout the vigil.

As soon as he had had his breakfast, he went to carry his report to
Glashruach.

The laird was vexed, and told him he must sleep well before night,
and watch to better purpose.

The next night, Fergus's terror returned in full force; but he
watched thoroughly notwithstanding, and when his aunt entered, she
found him there, and her kitchen in a mess. He had caught no
brownie, it was true, but neither had a stroke of her work been
done. The floor was unswept; not a dish had been washed; it was
churning-day, but the cream stood in the jar in the dairy, not the
butter in the pan on the kitchen-dresser. Jean could not quite see
the good or the gain of it. She had begun to feel like a lady, she
said to herself, and now she must tuck up her sleeves and set to
work as before. It was a come-down in the world, and she did not
like it. She conned her nephew little thanks, and not being in the
habit of dissembling, let him feel the same. He crept to bed rather
mortified. When he woke from a long sleep, he found no meal waiting
him, and had to content himself with cakes[1] and milk before setting
out for "the Muckle Hoose."

"You must add cunning to courage, my young friend," said Mr.
Galbraith; and the result of their conference was that Fergus went
home resolved on yet another attempt.

He felt much inclined to associate Donal with him in his watch this
time, but was too desirous of proving his courage both to himself
and to the world, to yield to the suggestion of his fear. He went
to bed with a book immediately after the noon-day meal and rose in
time for supper.

There was a large wooden press in the kitchen, standing out from the
wall; this with the next wall made a little recess, in which there
was just room for a chair; and in that recess Fergus seated himself,
in the easiest chair he could get into it. He then opened wide the
door of the press, and it covered him entirely.

This night would have been the dreariest of all for him, the laird
having insisted that he should watch in the dark, had