a grass glebe; the china cups were already arranged, and the savoury teapot stood basking on the ledge of the grate, when the servant-maid entered, and told Mr Grumple that there was one at the door who wanted him.
We immediately heard a debate in the passage,—the parson pressing his guest to come ben, which the other stoutly resisted, declaring aloud that "it was a' nonsense thegither, for he was eneuch to fley a' the grand folk out o' the room, an' set the kivering o' the floor a-swoomin." The parlour door was however thrown open, and, to my astonishment, the first guests who presented themselves were two strong honest-looking colleys, or shepherd's dogs, that came bouncing and capering into the room, with a great deal of seeming satisfaction. Their master was shortly after ushered in. He was a tall athletic figure, with a black beard, and dark raven hair hanging over his brow; wore clouted shoes, shod with iron, and faced up with copper; and there was altogether something in his appearance the most homely and uncouth of any exterior I had ever seen.
"This," said the minister, "is Peter Plash, a parishioner of mine, who has brought me in an excellent salmon, and wants a good office at my hand, he says, in return."—"The bit fish is naething, man," said Peter, sleeking down the hair on his brow; "I wish he had been better for your sake—but gin ye had seen the sport that we had wi' him at Pool-Midnight, ye wad hae leughen till ye had burstit." Here the shepherd, observing his two dogs seated comfortably on the hearth-rug, and deeming it an instance of high presumption and very bad manners, broke out with—"Ay, Whitefoot, lad! an' ye're for being a gentleman too! My certy, man, but ye're no blate!—I'm ill eneuch, to be sure, to come into a grand room this way, but yet I wadna set up my impudent nose an' my muckle rough brisket afore the lowe, an' tak a' the fire to mysel—Get aft' wi' ye, sir! An' you too, Trimmy, ye limmer! what's your business here?"—So saying, he attempted, with the fringe of his plaid, to drive them out; but they only ran about the room, eyeing their master with astonishment and concern. They had never, it seemed, been wont to be separated from him either by night or by day, and they could not understand why they should be driven from the parlour, or how they had not as good a right to be there as he. Of course, neither threats nor blows could make them leave him; and it being a scene of life quite new to me, and of which I was resolved to profit as much as possible, at my intercession matters were made up, and the two canine associates were suffered to remain where they were. They were soon seated, one on each side of their master, clinging fondly to his feet, and licking the wet from his dripping trowsers.
Having observed that, when the shepherd entered, he had begun to speak with great zest about the sport they had in killing the salmon, I again brought on the subject, and made him describe the diversion to me.—"O man!" said he, and then indulged in a hearty laugh—(man was always the term he used in addressing either of us—sir seemed to be no word in his vocabulary)—"O man, I wish ye had been there! I'll lay a plack ye wad hae said ye never saw sic sport sin' ever ye war born. We gat twall fish a' thegither the-day, an' sair broostals we had wi' some o' them ; but a' was naething to the killin o' that ane at Pool-Midnight. Geordie Otterson, Mathew Ford, an' me, war a' owre the lugs after him. But ye's hear:—When I cam on to the craigs at the weil o' Pool-Midnight, the sun was shinin bright, the wind was lown, an' wi' the pirl[1] being away, the pool was as clear as crystal. I soon saw by the bells coming up, that there was a fish in the auld hauld; an' I keeks an' I glimes about, till, faith! I sees his blue murt fin. My teeth were a' waterin to be in him, but I kend the shank o' my waster[2] wasna half length. Sae I cries to Geordie, "Geordie," says I, "aigh man! here's a great chap just lyin steeping like a aik clog." Off comes Geordie, shaugle shauglin a' his pith; for the creature's that greedy o' fish, he wad venture his very saul for them. I kend brawly what wad be the upshot. "Now," says I, "Geordie, man yoursel for this ae time. Aigh, man! he is a terrible ane for size—See, yonder he's lying." The sun was
