His examination proceeded thus:--
_Sheriff_. You saw these gay-looking things? what did you think
they were?
_Shepherd_. Ou, I am no that free to say what I might think they
were.
_Sheriff_. Come, lad, I must have a direct answer--who did you
think they were?
_Shepherd_. Ou, sir, troth I am no that free to say that I mind
wha I might think they were.
_Sheriff_. Come, come sir! I ask you distinctly, did you think
they were the fairies you saw?
_Shepherd_. Indeed, sir, and I winna say but I might think it was
the Good Neighbours.
Thus unwillingly was he brought to allude to the irritable and
captious inhabitants of fairy land.]
They set forward on their pilgrimage on the last day of October. "This
is thy birthday, my sweet Mary," said the mother, as a sting of bitter
recollection crossed her mind. "Oh, who could have believed that the
head, which, a few years since, was cradled amongst so many rejoicing
friends, may perhaps this night seek a cover in vain!"
The exiled family then set forward,--Mary Avenel, a lovely girl between
five and six years old, riding gipsy fashion upon Shagram, betwixt two
bundles of bedding; the Lady of Avenel walking by the animal's side;
Tibb leading the bridle, and old Martin walking a little before, looking
anxiously around him to explore the way.
Martin's task as guide, after two or three miles' walking, became more
difficult than he himself had expected, or than he was willing to
avow.
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