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There is a sang about ane o' them marrying a daughter of the King of Man; it begins Blythe Bertram's ta'en him ower the faem, To wed a wife, and bring her hame I daur say Mr. Skreigh can sing us the ballant.
He paused a moment, then continued slowly: 'They still hunt for him "Clavers" and Grierson o' Lag; 'tis the weird they hae to dree till the Day o' Doom for their wickedness i' pursuin' the Saints o' God. 'Have you ever seen them? I asked lightly. 'Ay, I hae, came the unexpected response, 'whiles i' the "oncome" or "haar," or by the moonlicht. 'D' ye no ken the bit ballant?
'And how comes that? said Bertram. 'Ou, I dinna ken; I daur say it's nonsense, but they say she has gathered the fern-seed, and can gang ony gate she likes, like Jock the Giant-killer in the ballant, wi' his coat o' darkness and his shoon o' swiftness.
"I'm dreidfu' tired o' lyin' here i' my bed," said Malcolm at length when, neither desiring to carry the conversation further, a pause had intervened. "I dinna ken what I want. Whiles I think its the sun, whiles the win', and whiles the watter. But I canna rist. Haena ye a bit ballant ye could say till me Mr Graham? There's naething wad quaiet me like a ballant."
But at the last she gae a gret sich, an' a sab, like, an' stude jist as gien she was tryin' sair, but could not mak up her bonny min' to yon 'at was i' the ballant. An' eh! hoo I grippit the buik atween me an' the tree for there it was a' as I saw 't afore!
'And how comes that? said Bertram. 'Ou, I dinna ken; I daur say it's nonsense, but they say she has gathered the fern-seed, and can gang ony gate she likes, like Jock the Giant-killer in the ballant, wi' his coat o' darkness and his shoon o' swiftness.
The man 'at made the ballant, I daursay, thoucht him weel payed gien the bonny leddy said thank ye till him." "Oh! but, Donal, that wouldn't be enough! Would it, Nicie?" "But a serpent! a serpent's mouth, Nicie!"
"Blythe Bertram's ta'en him ower the faem, To wed a wife, and bring her hame I daur say Mr. Skreigh can sing us the ballant." "Gudewife," said Skreigh, gathering up his mouth, and sipping his tiff of brandy punch with great solemnity, "our talents were gien us to other use than to sing daft auld sangs sae near the Sabbath day." "Hout fie, Mr.
"You're there with your tale of a ballant, and you point at the one picture ever I saw that gave me the day-dreaming. I never see that smudgy old print but I'm crying on the cavalry that made the Frenchmen rout." From where he sat the boy could make out the picture in every detail. It was a scene of flying and broken troops, of men on the wings of terror and dragoons riding them down.
"A failure!" she cried. "Did any one ever hear the like? God forgive me for saying it of my brother, but what failure is more notorious than his own? A windy old clerk-soger with his name in a ballant, no more like his brothers than I'm like Duke George." "You do not deny it!" said Gilian simply. She moved up to him and looked at him with an affection that was a transfiguration.
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