ur reputation in risk for a creature that would find a
lodging for a silver twopence and less matter is a mystery to me."

"Trust me with that, old woman, and be kind to the girl."

"Kinder than she deserves, I warrant you; and truly, though I little
like the company of such cattle, yet I think I am less like to take harm
from her than you--unless she be a witch, indeed, which may well come
to be the case, as the devil is very powerful with all this wayfaring
clanjamfray."

"No more a witch than I am a warlock," said the honest smith: "a poor,
broken hearted thing, that, if she hath done evil, has dreed a sore
weird for it. Be kind to her. And you, my musical damsel, I will call
on you tomorrow morning, and carry you to the waterside. This old woman
will treat you kindly if you say nothing to her but what becomes honest
ears."

The poor minstrel had listened to this dialogue without understanding
more than its general tendency; for, though she spoke English well, she
had acquired the language in England itself; and the Northern dialect
was then, as now, of a broader and harsher character. She saw, however,
that she was to remain with the old lady, and meekly folding her arms
on her bosom, bent her head with humility. She next looked towards the
smith with a strong expression of thankfulness, then, raising her eyes
to heaven, took his passive hand, and seemed about to kiss the sinewy
fingers in token of deep and affectionate gratitude.

But Dame Shoolbred did not give license to the stranger's mode of
expressing her feelings. She thrust in between them, and pushing poor
Louise aside, said, "No--no, I'll have none of that work. Go into the
chimney nook, mistress, and when Harry Smith's gone, if you must have
hands to kiss, you shall kiss mine as long as you like. And you, Harry,
away down to Sim Glover's, for if pretty Mistress Catharine hears of the
company you have brought home, she may chance to like them as little
as I do. What's the matter now? is the man demented? are you going out
without your buckler, and the whole town in misrule?"

"You are right, dame," said the armourer; and, throwing the buckler over
his broad shoulders, he departed from his house without abiding farther
question.

CHAPTER XIII.

How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,
Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills
Their mountain pipe, so fill the mountaineers
With the fierce native daring which in