enough wi' two collies, for she was at her service in the Isle House,
and they kent her. We left her there sitting on a bag of corn and the
dogs at her feet, and made our way through the yard to the house.

[1] Bhuda ban=white headland.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE DEATH OF McDEARG, THE RED LAIRD.

While we were still in the yard the door opened, throwing a scad of
light over the snow, and a high screiching voice came to us--

"Come in, lads, come in; the lassies are weary waiting for their lads,
the poor bit things, sair negleckit on this weary isle, wi' nane to see
their ankles but scarts[1] and solangeese."

And as we entered she held out a dry wrinkled hand.

"Prosperous New Year, Young Dan. Six bonny sons Auld Kate wishes ye,
tall braw lads that'll no feel the weight o' your coffin; but if a'
tales be true, you'll no' be in want. Ech, they're clever, clever,
your lassies. Same to you, McKelvie. Your lass has ta'en the rue the
day. Happy New Year, young sir; you'll be a McBride too," and the old
withered crone peered at me through eyes bleared, as it seemed to me,
with the peat reek of a hundred winters.

I was sore amazed at our welcome, for it was not near New Year, and I
wondered if the scad of light on the snow, shining on us, had taken the
old woman back to her younger days, but Dan took me out of my amazement.

"Humour her, Hamish; humour the weemen. A new face is New Year to Auld
Kate that keeps house tae McDearg."

"Och, it's the lassies will be the pleased ones, coiling the blankets
round them; it's Auld Kate that kens," and then she gave a screitchy
hooch and began to sing in her cracked thin voice--

'The man's no' born and he never will be,
The man's no born that will daunton me.'

It's that I used to be singing to your grandfather, Dan, when I was at
my service in Nourn. He had a terrible grip, your grandfather, and the
devil was in him; but he's deid, they're a' deid but Auld Kate. But
we'll have a dram, and you'll be seeing the Red Laird." And in a
little I saw that there was more than old age the matter.

There came the noise of piping in that strange house, and we tramped
along a stone-flagged passage, and entered a room looking to the sea,
and there, before a great fire, was McDearg, an old man, with evil
looking from his eyes. He sat in his great chair, his head on his
breast, and his shepherd, with the pipes on his knee, sat listening.

"A brave night, a brave night