The seriousness of Barnaby's manner made it evident to his fellow traveller that he believed in the reality of every word he had said; there was an inconceivable sublimity in the whole idea, and she fancied herself going to reside, perhaps for a season, in the regions of imagination and romance, and she asked him if his father and mother had faith in dreams an' apparitions?
"Aye, that they hae," answered he; "ye had need to tak care how ye dispute the existence of fairies, brownies, and apparitions there; ye may as weel dispute the gospel o' Sant Mathew. We dinna believe in a' the gomral fantastic bogles an' spirits that fley light-headed fock up an' down the country, but we believe in a' the apparitions that warn o' death, that save life, an' that discover guilt. I'll tell you what we believe, ye see.
"The deil an' his adgents, they fash nane but the gude fock; the Cameronians, an' the prayin' ministers, an' sic like. Then the bogles, they are a better kind o' spirits, they meddle wi' nane but the guilty; the murderer, an' the mansworn, an' the cheater o' the widow an' fatherless, they do for _them_. Then the fairies, they're very harmless; they're keener o' fun an' frolic than aught else; but if fock neglect kirk ordinances, they see after _them_. Then the brownie, he's a kind o' half-spirit half-man; he'll drudge an' do a' the wark about the town for his meat, but then he'll no work but when he likes for a' the king's dominions. That's precisely what we a' believe here awa', auld an' young; an' I'll tell ye twa or three stories that we a' ken to be true, an' which I wadna misbelieve for a' that I'm worth.
"Sandy Shiel, the herd o' the Birky-Cleuch, was standing afore his sheep ae fine day in winter. The snaw had been drifted ower the brae-head to the size of another hill, but it was blawn bare aneath; an' there was Sandy standin' i' the sun afore his sheep, whistling an' singing, and knitting his stocking. Ere ever he wist there comes a broken-leggit hare by his very foot--Every Scotsman's keen of a hunt--Sandy flings the plaid frae him, an' after the hare what he can streik, hallooing, and crying on his dog to kep. As he gaed o'er the brow he was close upon her, an' had up his stick just to knock her dead--Tut! the hare vanished in a moment! Sandy jumpit round-about an' round about--'What the devil's come o' my hare now? Is she santit? or yirdit? or flown awa'?'--Sandy lookit up into the air, but she wasna to be seen there neither. She was gane, an' for ever! Sandy was amaist swarf'd, the cauld sweat brak on him, an' he clew his head. 'Now, gude faith, I hae seen muckle,' quo' Sandy, 'but the like o' that I saw never.' Sandy trodged back, wantin' his hare, to lift his plaid. But what think ye? The hale volume o' snaw on the hill aboon had shot away and burried it fifty feet deep; it was nae mair seen till the month o' May. Sandy kneeled down among the snaw and thankit his Maker; he saw brawly what the hare had been.