“Unquestionably—my business is pressing, and if you can find any guide to accompany me, I’ll pay him handsomely.”

“This is no a day to speak o’ carnal matters,” said Andrew, casting his eyes upwards; “but if it werena Sabbath at e’en, I wad speer what ye wad be content to gie to ane that wad bear ye pleasant company on the road, and tell ye the names of the gentlemen’s and noblemen’s seats and castles, and count their kin to ye?”

“I tell you, all I want to know is the road I must travel; I will pay the fellow to his satisfaction—I will give him anything in reason.”

“Onything,” replied Andrew, “is naething; and this lad that I am speaking o’ kens a’ the short cuts and queer bypaths through the hills, and—”

“I have no time to talk about it, Andrew; do you make the bargain for me your own way.”

“Aha! that’s speaking to the purpose,” answered Andrew,—“I am thinking, since sae be that sae it is, I’ll be the lad that will guide you mysell.”

“You, Andrew? how will you get away from your employment?”

“I tell’d your honour a while syne, that it was lang that I hae been thinking o’ flitting, maybe as lang as frae the first year I came to Osbaldistone Hall; and now I am o’ the mind to gang in gude earnest—better soon as syne—better a finger aff as aye wagging.”

“You leave your service then?—but will you not lose your wages?”

“Nae doubt there will be a certain loss; but then I hae siller o’ the laird’s in my hands that I took for the apples in the auld orchyard—and a sair bargain the folk had that bought them—a wheen green trash—and yet Sir Hilde-brand’s as keen to hae the siller (that is, the steward is as pressing about it) as if they had been a’ gowden pippins—and then there’s the siller for the seeds—I’m thinking the wage will be in a manner decently made up.—But doubtless your honour will consider my risk of loss when we won to Glasgow—and ye’ll be for setting out forthwith?”

“By daybreak in the morning,” I answered.

“That’s something o’ the suddenest—whare am I to find a naig?—Stay—I ken just the beast that will answer me.”

“At five in the morning, then, Andrew, you will meet me at the head of the avenue.”

“Deil a fear o’ me (that I suld say sae) missing my tryste,” replied Andrew very briskly; “and, if I might advise, we wad be aff twa hours earlier. I ken the way, dark or light, as weel as blind Ralph Ronaldson, that’s travelled ower every moor in the country-side, and disna ken the colour of a heather-cowe when a’s dune.”

I highly approved of Andrew’s amendment on my original proposal, and we agreed to meet at the place appointed at three in the morning. At once, however, a reflection came across the mind of my intended travelling companion.

“The bogle! the bogle! what if it should come out upon us?—I downa forgather wi’ thae things twice in the four-and-twenty hours.”

“Pooh! pooh!” I exclaimed, breaking away from him, “fear nothing from the next world—the earth contains living fiends, who can act for themselves without assistance, were the whole host that fell with Lucifer to return to aid and abet them.”