THE COMPLETE TALES OF MY LANDLORD (Illustrated Edition). Walter Scott

dinna ken what ye speak about.”

      “Hae ye ony tidings? — Hae ye ony speerings, Hobbie? — O, callants, dinna be ower hasty,” said old Dick of the Dingle.

      “What signifies preaching to us, e’enow?” said Simon; “if ye canna make help yoursell, dinna keep back them that can.”

      “Whisht, sir; wad ye take vengeance or ye ken wha has wrang’d ye?”

      “D’ye think we dinna ken the road to England as weel as our fathers before us? — All evil comes out o’ thereaway — it’s an auld saying and a true; and we’ll e’en away there, as if the devil was blawing us south.”

      “We’ll follow the track o’ Earnscliff’s horses ower the waste,” cried one Elliot.

      “I’ll prick them out through the blindest moor in the Border, an there had been a fair held there the day before,” said Hugh, the blacksmith of Ringleburn, “for I aye shoe his horse wi’ my ain hand.”

      “Lay on the deerhounds,” cried another “where are they?”

      “Hout, man, the sun’s been lang up, and the dew is aff the grund — the scent will never lie.”

      Hobbie instantly whistled on his hounds, which were roving about the ruins of their old habitation, and filling the air with their doleful howls.

      “Now, Killbuck,” said Hobbie, “try thy skill this day,” and then, as if a light had suddenly broke on him, — ”that illfaur’d goblin spak something o’ this! He may ken mair o’t, either by villains on earth, or devils below — I’ll hae it frae him, if I should cut it out o’ his misshapen bouk wi’ my whinger.” He then hastily gave directions to his comrades: “Four o’ ye, wi’ Simon, haud right forward to Graeme’s-gap. If they’re English, they’ll be for being back that way. The rest disperse by twasome and threesome through the waste, and meet me at the Trysting-pool. Tell my brothers, when they come up, to follow and meet us there. Poor lads, they will hae hearts weelnigh as sair as mine; little think they what a sorrowful house they are bringing their venison to! I’ll ride ower Mucklestane-Moor mysell.”

      “And if I were you,” said Dick of the Dingle, “I would speak to Canny Elshie. He can tell you whatever betides in this land, if he’s sae minded.”

      “He SHALL tell me,” said Hobbie, who was busy putting his arms in order, “what he kens o’ this night’s job, or I shall right weel ken wherefore he does not.”

      “Ay, but speak him fair, my bonny man — speak him fair Hobbie; the like o’ him will no bear thrawing. They converse sae muckle wi’ thae fractious ghaists and evil spirits, that it clean spoils their temper.”

      “Let me alane to guide him,” answered Hobbie; “there’s that in my breast this day, that would ower-maister a’ the warlocks on earth, and a’ the devils in hell.”

      And being now fully equipped, he threw himself on his horse, and spurred him at a rapid pace against the steep ascent.

      Elliot speedily surmounted the hill, rode down the other side at the same rate, crossed a wood, and traversed a long glen, ere he at length regained Mucklestane-Moor. As he was obliged, in the course of his journey, to relax his speed in consideration of the labour which his horse might still have to undergo, he had time to consider maturely in what manner he should address the Dwarf, in order to extract from him the knowledge which he supposed him to be in possession of concerning the authors of his misfortunes. Hobbie, though blunt, plain of speech, and hot of disposition, like most of his countrymen, was by no means deficient in the shrewdness which is also their characteristic. He reflected, that from what he had observed on the memorable night when the Dwarf was first seen, and from the conduct of that mysterious being ever since, he was likely to be rendered even more obstinate in his sullenness by threats and violence.

      “I’ll speak him fair,” he said, “as auld Dickon advised me. Though folk say he has a league wi’ Satan, he canna be sic an incarnate devil as no to take some pity in a case like mine; and folk threep he’ll whiles do good, charitable sort o’ things. I’ll keep my heart doun as weel as I can, and stroke him wi’ the hair; and if the warst come to the warst, it’s but wringing the head o’ him about at last.”

      In this disposition of accommodation he approached the hut of the Solitary.

      The old man was not upon his seat of audience, nor could Hobbie perceive him in his garden, or enclosures.

      “He’s gotten into his very keep,” said Hobbie, “maybe to be out o’ the gate; but I’se pu’ it doun about his lugs, if I canna win at him otherwise.”

      Having thus communed with himself, he raised his voice, and invoked Elshie in a tone as supplicating as his conflicting feelings would permit. “Elshie, my gude friend!” No reply. “Elshie, canny Father Elshie!” The Dwarf remained mute. “Sorrow be in the crooked carcass of thee!” said the Borderer between his teeth; and then again attempting a soothing tone, — ”Good Father Elshie, a most miserable creature desires some counsel of your wisdom.”

      “The better!” answered the shrill and discordant voice of the Dwarf through a very small window, resembling an arrow slit, which he had constructed near the door of his dwelling, and through which he could see any one who approached it, without the possibility of their looking in upon him.

      “The better!” said Hobbie impatiently; “what is the better, Elshie? Do you not hear me tell you I am the most miserable wretch living?”

      “And do you not hear me tell you it is so much the better! and did I not tell you this morning, when you thought yourself so happy, what an evening was coming upon you?”

      “That ye did e’en,” replied Hobbie, “and that gars me come to you for advice now; they that foresaw the trouble maun ken the cure.”

      “I know no cure for earthly trouble,” returned the Dwarf “or, if I did, why should I help others, when none hath aided me? Have I not lost wealth, that would have bought all thy barren hills a hundred times over? rank, to which thine is as that of a peasant? society, where there was an interchange of all that was amiable — of all that was intellectual? Have I not lost all this? Am I not residing here, the veriest outcast on the face of Nature, in the most hideous and most solitary of her retreats, myself more hideous than all that is around me? And why should other worms complain to me when they are trodden on, since I am myself lying crushed and writhing under the chariot-wheel?”

      “Ye may have lost all this,” answered Hobbie, in the bitterness of emotion; “land and friends, goods and gear; ye may hae lost them a’, — but ye ne’er can hae sae sair a heart as mine, for ye ne’er lost nae Grace Armstrong. And now my last hopes are gane, and I shall ne’er see her mair.”

      This he said in the tone of deepest emotion — and there followed a long pause, for the mention of his bride’s name had overcome the more angry and irritable feelings of poor Hobbie. Ere he had again addressed the Solitary, the bony hand and long fingers of the latter, holding a large leathern bag, was thrust forth at the small window, and as it unclutched the burden, and let it drop with a clang upon the ground, his harsh voice again addressed Elliot.

      “There — there lies a salve for every human ill; so, at least, each human wretch readily thinks. — Begone; return twice as wealthy as thou wert before yesterday, and torment me no more with questions, complaints, or thanks; they are alike odious to me.”

      “It is a’ gowd, by Heaven!” said Elliot, having glanced at the contents; and then again addressing the Hermit, “Muckle obliged for your goodwill; and I wad blithely gie you a bond for some o’ the siller, or a wadset ower the lands o’ Wideopen. But I dinna ken, Elshie; to be free wi’ you, I dinna like to use siller unless I kend it was decently come by; and maybe it might turn into sclate-stanes, and cheat some poor man.”

      “Ignorant idiot!” retorted the Dwarf; “the trash is as genuine poison as ever was dug out of the bowels of the earth. Take it