e--he did not mind Gibbie--should understand.

"I hed sic a queer dream the ither nicht, mem," he said, "an' I'll
jist tell ye't.--I thoucht I was doon in an awfu' kin' o' a weet
bog, wi' dry graivelly-like hills a' aboot it, an' naething upo'
them but a wheen short hunger-like gerse. An' oot o' the mids o'
the bog there grew jist ae tree--a saugh, I think it was, but unco
auld--'maist past kennin' wi' age;--an' roun' the rouch gnerlet
trunk o' 't was twistit three faulds o' the oogliest, ill-fauredest
cratur o' a serpent 'at ever was seen. It was jist laithly to luik
upo'. I cud describe it till ye, mem, but it wad only gar ye runkle
yer bonny broo, an' luik as I wadna hae ye luik, mem, 'cause ye
wadna luik freely sae bonny as ye div noo whan ye luik jist yersel'.
But ae queer thing was, 'at atween hit an' the tree it grippit a
buik, an' I kent it for the buik o' ballants. An' I gaed nearer,
luikin' an' luikin', an' some frichtit. But I wadna stan' for that,
for that wad be to be caitiff vile, an' no true man: I gaed nearer
an' nearer, till I had gotten within a yaird o' the tree, whan a' at
ance, wi' a swing an' a swirl, I was three-fauld aboot the tree, an'
the laithly worm was me mesel'; an' I was the laithly worm. The
verra hert gaed frae me for hoarible dreid, an' scunner at mysel'!
Sae there I was! But I wasna lang there i' my meesery, afore I
saw, oot o' my ain serpent e'en, maist blin't wi' greitin', ower the
tap o' the brae afore me, 'atween me an' the lift, as gien it reacht
up to the verra stars, for it wasna day but nicht by this time aboot
me, as weel it micht be,--I saw the bonny sicht come up o' a knicht
in airmour, helmet an' shield an' iron sheen an' a'; but somehoo I
kent by the gang an' the stan' an' the sway o' the bonny boady o'
the knicht, 'at it was nae man, but a wuman.--Ye see, mem, sin I cam
frae Daurside, I hae been able to get a grip o' buiks 'at I cudna
get up there; an' I hed been readin' Spenser's Fairy Queen the nicht
afore, a' yon aboot the lady 'at pat on the airmour o' a man, an'
foucht like a guid ane for the richt an' the trowth--an' that hed
putten 't i' my heid maybe; only whan I saw her, I kent her, an' her
name wasna Britomart. She had a twistit brainch o' blew berries
aboot her helmet, an' they ca'd her Juniper: wasna that queer, noo?
An' she cam doon the hill wi' bonny big strides, no ower big for a
stately wuman, but eh, sae different frae the nipperty mincin'
stip