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But choose wisely, man, and dinna throw them away. I hae my fears that ye're no without a bee in your bonnet, Brockburn." Incensed by this insinuation, the Laird defended his own sagacity at some length, and retorted on his companion with doubts of the power of the Daoiné Shi to grant wishes. "The proof of the pudding's in the eating o't," said the Man of Peace.
Lights shone gaily through the crevices or windows of the Shian, and sounds of revelry came forth, among which fiddling was conspicuous. The tune played at that moment was "Delvyn-side." Blinded by the light, and amazed at what he saw, the Laird staggered, and was silent. "Keep to your feet, man keep to your feet!" said the Dwarf, laughing. "I doubt ye're fou, Brockburn!"
But he cannily added the provision: "And ye may tak me wi' it." The words were no sooner spoken than the homestead was back in its place, and Brockburn himself was lying in his own bed, Jock, his favourite collie, barking and licking his face by turns for joy. "Whisht, whisht, Jock!" said the Laird. "Ye wouldna bark when I begged of ye, so ye may hand your peace noo."
As he was now again reduced to poverty, he was obliged to work as diligently as in former years, and passed the rest of his days in the same peace and prosperity which he had before enjoyed. In the Highlands of Scotland there once lived a Laird of Brockburn, who would not believe in fairies.
"It'll be my new brogues that ye hear bumpin' Upon the muckle stanes," said the Laird. "Ye're fou, Brockburn, I tellt ye so. Ye're fou!" growled the Man of Peace, angrily, and the Laird dared not drop any more of the Dwarfs gifts. After a while his companion's good-humour seemed to return, and he became talkative and generous. "I mind your great-grandfather weel, Brockburn.
The Man of Peace, however, would not take any hints as to undoing his work of his own accord. All he said was: "If ye wush it away, so it'll be. But then ye'll only have one wush left. Ye've small discretion the nicht, Brockburn, I'm feared." "To leave the steading in sic a spot is no to be thought on," sighed the Laird, as he spent his second wish in undoing his first.
His beautiful face quivered with amusement, and he cried triumphantly, "D'ye see me? d'ye see me noo, Brockburn?" "Aye, aye," said the Laird; "and seein's believin'."
Then night fell, and darkness was added to the fog, so that Brockburn needed to sound every step with his rung before he took it. Suddenly light footsteps pattered beside him, then Something rubbed against him, then It ran between his legs. The delighted Laird made sure that his favourite collie had found him once more. "Wow, Jock, man!" he cried; "but ye needna throw me on my face.
"It'll be me striking my rung upon the ground," said the Laird. "You're mad," said the Man of Peace, and Brockburn felt sure that he knew the truth, and was displeased. But as they went on, the stones were so heavy, and bumped the Laird's side so hard, that he threw away a second, dropping it as gently as he could.
Yet it is said that the Laird of Brockburn prospered and throve thereafter, in acre, stall, and steading, as those seldom prosper who have not the good word of the People of Peace. In days when ogres were still the terror of certain districts, there was one who had long kept a whole neighbourhood in fear without any one daring to dispute his tyranny.
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