"I am come," said she, "for my tirewoman, Janet Somerville, who left me
three days back without a reason. Word was brought me that she had
joined a mad company called the Sweet-Singers, that lay at the
Cauldstaneslap. Janet's a silly body, but she means no ill, and her
mother is demented at the loss of her. So I have come for Janet."

Her cool eyes ran over the assembly till they lighted on the one I had
already noted as more decent-like than the rest. At the sight of the
girl the woman bobbed a curtsy.

"Come out of it, silly Janet," said she on the horse; "you'll never
make a Sweet-Singer, for there's not a notion of a tune in your head."

"It's not singing that I seek, my leddy," said the woman, blushing. "I
follow the call o' the Lord by the mouth o' His servant, John Gib."

"You'll follow the call of your mother by the mouth of me, Elspeth
Blair. Forget these havers, Janet, and come back like a good Christian
soul. Mount and be quick. There's room behind me on Bess."

The words were spoken in a kindly, wheedling tone, and the girl's face
broke into the prettiest of smiles. Perhaps Janet would have obeyed,
but Muckle John, swift to prevent defection, took up the parable.

"Begone, ye daughter of Heth!" he bellowed, "ye that are like the
devils that pluck souls from the way of salvation. Begone, or it is
strongly borne in upon me that ye will dree the fate of the women of
Midian, of whom it is written that they were slaughtered and spared
not."