Page:Martha Spreull by Zachary Fleming.pdf/110

98 But imagine my horror when, on cornin’ back, I discovered the callant amissing.

This fishing business, thinks I, has ta’en his head. I went oot into the road and gave the alarm.

“Ring the toon bell," quoth I; “ call oot the Milleshay, and wauken the sleepin’ inhabitants; wha kens but my puir callant has risen in his sleep and walket ower a precipice into the sea."

There were some licht-headed young men standing near wha laughed and said it wis a guid joke—the callant had been eaten up alive. I met an auld gentleman, wha wis real decent, and I tauld him the story.

“Ah,” says he, smiling, “I fear ye hae gotten into bad quarters—the place has the repute of not being over clean.”

" Clean or no’ clean,” quoth I, “ ye wud think his claes wud be left, but as it is there’s no’ a vestage o’ him to be seen.” By this time the neighbours had turned oot, and just as an explorin’ party wis settin’ oot wi’ sticks and lanthorns, the innkeeper, wha bides aboot a quarter o’ a mile ower the shore, cam’ alang to say that efter finding oot the nature o’ the place the callant had beat a hasty retreat to the inn, and wis noo fast asleep.

I needna tell ye that I wisna lang o’ shakin’ the dust o’ that hoose aff my feet and in removing my kist. Willie Warstle is sittin’ beside me as I write, and looks as if he wis sufferin’ frae a sair brash o’ the measles; but to tell ye the truth it’s a mercy there wis ony o’ ’im left ava. Ever since that memorable nicht we hae occupied apartments at the inn.

It seems I had gotten the only hoose in the place that wudna let. There were five papers on the wa’—a’ on the tap o’ ane anither.