ver his condition, were a night's quarters ever refused.
M'Pherson's house, in short, formed a kind of focus, with a power to
draw towards itself all the misery and poverty in the country within a
circle whose diameter might be reckoned at somewhere about twenty miles.
The wandering mendicant made it one of his regular stages, and the
traveller of better degree toiled on his way with increased activity,
that he might make it his quarters for the night.

Fortunately for the character and credit of M'Pherson's hospitality, his
wife was of an equally kind and generous disposition with himself; so
that his absences from home, which were frequent, and sometimes long,
did not at all affect the treatment of the stranger under his roof, or
make his welcome less cordial.

But the hospitality exercised at Morvane, which was the name of
M'Pherson's farm, sometimes, it must be confessed, led to occasional
small depredations--such as the loss of a pair of blankets, a sheet, or
a pair of stockings, carried off by the ungrateful vagabonds whom he
sometimes sheltered. There were, however, one pair of blankets
abstracted in this way, that found their road back to their owner in
rather a curious manner.

The morning was thick and misty, when the thief (in the case alluded to)
decamped with his booty, and continued so during the whole day, so that
no object, at any distance, however large, could be seen. After toiling
for several hours, under the impression that he was leaving Morvane far
behind, the vagabond, who was also a stranger in the country, approached
a house, with the stolen blankets snugly and carefully bundled on his
back, and knocked at the door, with the view of seeking a night's
quarters, as it was now dusk. The door was opened; but by whom, think
you, good reader? Why, by M'Pherson!

The thief, without knowing it, had landed precisely at the point from
which he had set out. Being instantly recognised, he was politely
invited to walk in. To this kind invitation, the thief replied by
throwing down the blankets, and taking to his heels--thus making, with
his own hands, a restitution which was very far from being intended.
Poor M'Pherson, however, did not get all his stolen blankets back in
this way.

This, however, is a digression. To proceed with our tale. One night,
when M'Pherson was absent, attending a market at some distance, an
elderly female appeared at the door, with the usual demand of a night's
lodging, which,