e male
members of the household. This man had altogether a suspicious and
sinister aspect which his manners did nothing to belie. His name was
James Wilson, and he was undoubtedly a Scot, though he had neither the
physical nor the moral characteristics of his race. His eyes were
small, quick, and watchful, beneath heavy and jagged brows. He was
slight of figure and low of stature, and limped on one leg. He spoke
in a thin voice, half laugh, half whimper, and hardly ever looked into
the face of the person with whom he was conversing. There was an air
of mystery about him which the inmates of the house on the Moss did
nothing to dissipate. Ralph offered no explanation to the gossips of
Wythburn of Wilson's identity and belongings; indeed, as time wore on,
it could be observed that he showed some uneasiness when questioned
about the man.

At first Wilson contrived to ingratiate himself into a good deal of
favor among the dalespeople. There was then an insinuating smoothness
in his speech, a flattering, almost fawning glibness of tongue, which
the simple folks knew no art to withstand. He seemed abundantly
grateful for some unexplained benefits received from Ralph. "Atweel,"
Wilson would say, with his eyes on the ground,--"atweel I lo'e the
braw chiel as 'twere my ain guid billie."

Ralph paid no heed to the brotherly protestations of his admirer, and
exchanged only such words with him as their occupations required. Old
Angus, however, was not so passive an observer of his new and
unlooked-for housemate. "He's a good for nought sort of a fellow,
slenken frae place to place wi' nowt but a sark to his back," Angus
would say to his wife. Mr. Wilson's physical imperfections were an
offence in the dalesman's eyes: "He's as widderful in his wizzent old
skin as his own grandfather." Angus was not less severe on Wilson's
sly smoothness of manner. "Yon sneaking old knave," he would say, "is
as slape as an eel in the beck; he'd wammel himself into crookedest
rabbit hole on the fell." Probably Angus entertained some of the
antipathy to Scotchmen which was peculiar to his age. "I'll swear he's
a taistrel," he said one day; "I dare not trust him with a mess of
poddish until I'd had the first sup."

In spite of this determined disbelief on the part of the head of the
family, old Wilson remained for a long time a member of the household
at Shoulthwaite Moss, following his occupations with constancy, and
always obsequious in the acknow