Yet, in spite of all these stories, the boy was not afraid; and if he had been informed that any of the uncanny people were, even now, haunting his footsteps, he would not have believed it.

“I see,” said Wild Robin, “the sun is drawing his night-cap over his eyes, and dropping asleep. I believe I’ll e’en take a nap mysel’, and see what comes o’ it.”

In two minutes he had forgotten St. Mary’s Loch, the hills, the moors, the yellow flowers. [Pg 39] He heard, or fancied he heard, his sister Janet calling him home.

“And what have ye for supper?” he muttered between his teeth.

“Parritch and milk,” answered the lassie gently.

“Parritch and milk! Whist! say nae mair! Lang, lang may ye wait for Wild Robin: he’ll not gae back for oat-meal parritch!”

Next a sad voice fell on his ear.

“Mither’s; and she mourns me dead!” thought he; but it was only the far-off village-bell, which sounded like the echo of music he had heard lang syne, but might never hear again.

“D’ye think I’m not alive?” tolled the bell. “I sit all day in my little wooden temple, brooding over the sins of the parish.”

“A brazen lie!” cried Robin.

“Nay, the truth, as I’m a living soul! [Pg 40] Wae worth ye, Robin Telfer: ye think yersel’ hardly used. Say, have your brithers softer beds than yours? Is your ain father served with larger potatoes or creamier buttermilk? Whose mither sae kind as yours, ungrateful chiel? Gae to Elf-land,