he only found some old coins, and rings, and
bones, and the Squire was mightily put, about
that the ground should have bren disturbed;
for it seems Heslop had dug in the chapel.
There is an old stone coffin that they use as a
trough—you've seen it?"

" Yes."

"I don't credit the talk of treasures and
chests and what not, myself," Ailie adds,
with serene dignity, to which I reply that
such reports are usually unfounded.

"They are, miss—they are. Have you been
to Scarthneck, miss?"

"Yes, Ailie; a couple of months since."

"There was a strange thing happened
there once—it was to the squire's father.
You remember, miss, that long, steep hill that
goes down from the moor into the valley?"

I nod acquiescence.

"And you remember the low wood that
covers the high slope on the right hand
side?"

"Yes, perfectly."

"Well, one evening at dark, the Squire's
father and the old Colonel were coming on
horseback up the hill—where they had been
to I don't know; but, however, Mr. Langdale
had a great sum of money with him; they
were talking and going slowly, when, just as
they got to the brow, two men rushed out
and seized Mr. Langdale's horse—one at the
head, and the other at the tail. They never
touched the Colonel, whose horse took fright,
ami started off. Well, what they wanted
was the money, but the old Squire was tough
and strong in the arm. They tried to drag
him from his horse, but it was a high-mettled
thing, and kicked and plunged until it shook
both the villains off. They fired after the old
gentleman, but he got clear and galloped
away. He overtook the Colonel soon, and
they made good haste home, you may think.
The next day, nothing would serve them but
they would go and look at the place, for the
Squire was sure one of the men had been
hurt; and, after looking about in the wood
a little while, they found a grave dug, which
had been got ready for Mr. Langdale, no
doubt. Both the Squire and the Colonel had
their suspicions about one man, but for the
other they could not fix on anybody. Well,
they went home again, and that evening there
came a woman to the great house, to beg a
drop of brandy for her husband, who was
taken with a bad fit of colic. They were
decent people as any at Moorbeck, and, of
course, the wife got some brandy, and went
home. All at once a fancy took the Squire,
and he said to his wife that he would just
walk up the village and see the poor man.
He did not knock at the door, but walked
straight into the kitchen, and there, talking
with the wife, he saw the fellow he suspected
of having been one of those who set upon
him at Scarthneck. They seemed quite begone,
and would not let him go into the bedroom
where the man lay ill, for ever so long,
but the Squire was determined, and, at last,
he got to the bed where the miserable wretch
was twisting about in pain, he cried out
when he saw Mr. Langdale, for the old
gentleman was a magistrate, and, besides, his
conscience pricked him hard. The Squire
talked to him a bit, until the others seemed
off their guard, and then he whispered,
' Don't you think it was my horse gave you
your fit of colic ? ' He had not a word to say
then, and he confessed it was. He died that
same night—the other man was transported."

"I did not think you had had any such
wicked people in all the dale, Ailie."

"Oh! miss, I think human nature is much
of a muchness all the world over. There
are both good and bad in the country as well
as in the town."

"You keep up the old customs here, Ailie,
don't you?"

"Some of them, miss. Have you heard
anybody's banns published in church since
you came ? No; I don't think you will, for
they must needs have a licence now. Well,
in my time, after we had been asked in church
the third time the old clerk sung out ' God
speed 'em weel! ' and when I was married
his boy asked for my garter, and he got a
fine white ribbon. Then the first Sunday
Willie and me went to church after we were
wed they sang that psalm about olive-
branches—I daresay you know it—and always
after a funeral they have dirges when the
relations come to church. They don't do it
in London, miss, do they?"

"No, Ailie—at least I think not, but I
never was there to see."

"And I haven't either, and I think I never
shall now. But I walked seven-and-twenty
miles one day this summer to see a son of
mine that was ill at Leeds. There isn't
many going on for eighty could do that,
miss."

"Indeed, Ailie, I could not do it myself."

"I dare say you could, miss, if need were
that you should. You are small and light,
like me, but then, to be sure, we have had
different bringings-up. I'm always well if I
can get out of doors; for I've been used to a
deal of walking. It is only lately that the
mail-cart has come through Moorbeck, and
left the bag at my door. I had to go to the
corner of the road, near the bridge, which is
a good mile off, every morning, rain or shine,
to wait till the mail went by, and then I had
a round of six or seven miles more to deliver
the letters."

".All for five pounds a-year, Ailie ?"

"No, miss, it was twenty then; and I'll
assure you I was main well off with it. But
alterations were made: a post was set up at
Alanby, and they only left me five pounds,—
the other goes to the postmaster there; and
maybe he has not above a dozen letters a
month, while I've always, when the Squire's
family is at home, as many as forty near, or
fifty, sometimes."