pety-stap o' the leddies ye see upo' the streets here! An' sae
she cam doon the brae. An' I soucht sair to cry oot--first o' a' to
tell her gien she didna luik till her feet, she wad he lairt i' the
bog, an' syne to beg o' her for mercy's sake to draw her swoord, an'
caw the oogly heid aff o' me, an' lat me dee. Noo I maun confess
'at the ballant o' Kemp Owen was rinnin' i' the worm-heid o' me, an'
I cudna help thinkin' what, notwithstan'in' the cheenge o' han's i'
the story, lay still to the pairt o' the knicht; but hoo was ony
man, no to say a mere ugsome serpent, to mint at sic a thing till a
leddy, whether she was in steel beets an' spurs or in lang train an'
silver slippers? An' haith! I sune fan' 'at I cudna hae spoken the
word, gien I had daured ever sae stoot. For whan I opened my moo'
to cry till her, I cud dee naething but shot oot a forkit tongue,
an' cry sss. Mem, it was dreidfu'! Sae I had jist to tak in my
tongue again, an' say naething, for fear o' fleggin' awa' my bonny
leddy i' the steel claes. An' she cam an' cam, doon an' doon, an'
on to the bog; an' for a' the weicht o' her airmour she sankna a fit
intill 't. An' she cam, an' she stude, an' she luikit at me; an' I
hed seen her afore, an' kenned her weel. An' she luikit at me, an'
aye luikit; an' I winna say what was i' the puir worm's hert. But
at the last she gae a gret sich, an' a sab, like, an' stude jist as
gien she was tryin' sair, but could not mak up her bonny min' to yon
'at was i' the ballant. An' eh! hoo I grippit the buik atween me
an' the tree--for there it was--a' as I saw 't afore! An' sae at
last she gae a kin' o' a cry, an' turnt an' gaed awa', wi' her heid
hingin' doon, an' her swoord trailin', an' never turnt to luik ahint
her, but up the brae, an' ower the tap o' the hill, an' doon an'
awa'; an' the brainch wi' the blew berries was the last I saw o' her
gaein' doon like the meen ahint the hill. An' jist wi' the fell
greitin' I cam to mysel', an' my hert was gaein' like a pump 'at wad
fain pit oot a fire.--Noo wasna that a queer-like dream?--I'll no
say, mem, but I hae curriet an' kaimbt it up a wee, to gar't tell
better."

Ginevra had from the first been absorbed in listening, and her brown
eyes seemed to keep growing larger and larger as he went on. Even
the girls listened and were silent, looking as if they saw a
peacock's feather in a turkey's tail. When he ended, the tears
rushed from Ginevra's eyes--for bare