"Dinna be cast down, bairns," said the grandmother, "we hae gude friends
that winna forsake us in adversity. There's Sir Thomas Kittleloof is my
third cousin by the mother's side, and he has come by a hantle siller,
and been made a knight-baronet into the bargain, for being ane o' the
commissioners at the Union."

"He wadna gie a bodle to save us frae famishing," said Hobbie; "and, if
he did, the bread that I bought wi't would stick in my throat, when
I thought it was part of the price of puir auld Scotland's crown and
independence."

"There's the Laird o' Dunder, ane o' the auldest families in
Tiviotdale."

"He's in the tolbooth, mother--he's in the Heart of Mid-Louden for a
thousand merk he borrowed from Saunders Wyliecoat the writer."

"Poor man!" exclaimed Mrs. Elliot, "can we no send him something,
Hobbie?"

"Ye forget, grannie, ye forget we want help oursells," said Hobbie,
somewhat peevishly.

"Troth did I, hinny," replied the good-natured lady, "just at the
instant; it's sae natural to think on ane's blude relations before
themsells;--But there's young Earnscliff."

"He has ower little o' his ain; and siccan a name to keep up, it wad be
a shame," said Hobbie, "to burden him wi' our distress. And I'll tell
ye, grannie, it's needless to sit rhyming ower the style of a' your
kith, kin, and allies, as if there was a charm in their braw names to do
us good; the grandees hae forgotten us, and those of our ain degree hae
just little eneugh to gang on wi' themsells; ne'er a friend hae we that
can, or will, help us to stock the farm again."

"Then, Hobbie, me maun trust in Him that can raise up friends and
fortune out o' the bare moor, as they say."

Hobbie sprung upon his feet. "Ye are right, grannie!" he exclaimed; "ye
are right. I do ken a friend on the bare moor, that baith can and will
help us--The turns o' this day hae dung my head clean hirdie-girdie.
I left as muckle gowd lying on Mucklestane-Moor this morning as would
plenish the house and stock the Heugh-foot twice ower, and I am certain
sure Elshie wadna grudge us the use of it."

"Elshie!" said his grandmother in astonishment; "what Elshie do you
mean?"

"What Elshie should I mean, but Canny Elshie, the Wight o' Mucklestane,"
replied Hobbie.

"God forfend, my bairn, you should gang to fetch water out o' broken
cisterns, or seek for relief frae them that deal wi' the Evil One! There
was never luck in their gifts, nor grace in their paths. And