paused to take breath. The sky was
dull and lowering; but at his feet were yellow flowers, which shone, on
that gray day, like streaks of sunshine.

He threw himself wearily upon the grass, not heeding that he had chosen
his couch within a little mossy circle known as a "fairy's ring." Wild
Robin knew that the country people would say the fays had pressed that
green circle with their light feet. He had heard all the Scottish lore
of brownies, elves, will-o'-the-wisps and the strange water-kelpies, who
shriek with eldritch laughter. He had been told that the Queen of the
Fairies had coveted him from his birth, and would have stolen him away,
only that, just as she was about to seize him from the cradle, he had
_sneezed_; and from that instant the fairy-spell was over, and she had
no more control of him.

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 nightcap 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. 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 oatmeal 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! 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, Wild Robin; and dool and wae follow ye! dool and wae follow
ye!"

The round yellow sun had dropped behind the hills; the evening breezes
began to blow; and now could be heard the faint trampling of small
hoofs, and the tinkling