now grows thickest, was laid out in a corn-field. The marks o' the
furrows may still be seen amang the trees.

"A party o' Highlanders were busily engaged, ae day in harvest, in
cutting down the corn o' that field; an' just aboot noon, when the sun
shone brightest an' they were busiest in the work, they heard a voice
frae the river exclaim:--'The hour but not the man has come.' Sure
enough, on looking round, there was the kelpie stan'in' in what they ca'
a fause ford, just fornent the auld kirk. There is a deep black pool
baith aboon an' below, but i' the ford there's a bonny ripple, that
shows, as ane might think, but little depth o' water; an' just i' the
middle o' that, in a place where a horse might swim, stood the kelpie.
An' it again repeated its words:--'The hour but not the man has come,'
an' then flashing through the water like a drake, it disappeared in the
lower pool. When the folk stood wondering what the creature might mean,
they saw a man on horseback come spurring down the hill in hot haste,
making straight for the fause ford. They could then understand her words
at ance; an' four o' the stoutest o' them sprang oot frae amang the corn
to warn him o' his danger, an' keep him back. An' sae they tauld him
what they had seen an' heard, an' urged him either to turn back an' tak'
anither road, or stay for an hour or sae where he was. But he just wadna
hear them, for he was baith unbelieving an' in haste, an' wauld hae taen
the ford for a' they could say, hadna the Highlanders, determined on
saving him whether he would or no, gathered round him an' pulled him frae
his horse, an' then, to mak' sure o' him, locked him up in the auld kirk.
Weel, when the hour had gone by--the fatal hour o' the kelpie--they flung
open the door, an' cried to him that he might noo gang on his journey.
Ah! but there was nae answer, though; an' sae they cried a second time,
an' there was nae answer still; an' then they went in, an' found him
lying stiff an' cauld on the floor, wi' his face buried in the water o'