Page:Laird of Ardenoaige and the Ghost of Fenhaglen.pdf/4

4 brought off the prize. In short, he held claim to that honour and bravery that always characterized his name. Though his station in life was above the most that came in his way, yet he put himself on a level with every person that came in his company. In short, he was familiar with all his father’s tenants, and joined them in every domestic amusement which was common with them. Where Colin was, there was sure to be a number of the most expert of his companions employed in some harmless sport or game. In the long and dreary winter nights, he commonly resorted with his companions to the house of one Peter Fisher in Craggan, whom they commonly called, Par nan sgeule. He was an antiquated old man, and much noted for his great memory in relating old stories, which happened centuries back, handed down to him by his forefathers. He told of the many battles fought in the days of Wallace and Bruce, and of the bloody contests that fell out among the Clans, many of which were fought in his own day, which inspired the mind of the young hero, who listened with attention. He also would expound to them the cause and reason of the names of hills and dales, streams and fountains, likewise the death or event that happened where a heaped carn was placed, and the duty of every one that passed, or went to see them, was to place an additional stone on them, which custom was long upheld in the country. Many a wonderful story of fairies, and dreadful stories of Ghosts Peter would tell them. In a word, the whole of Ardenoaige history dwelt in him. He would have himself placed on a seat made of turf in the peat muck, with his hearers in a circle round the fire. He kept on a good fire, in which the laird always rendered him assistance by allowing him to make plenty of peats. And as Colin was the only child his parents was blest with; therefore they withheld nothing from him that might augment his happiness and welfare in his native rural vale.

“But pleasures are like poppis spread, You seize the flow’r, its bloom is shed,