veritable garments of gray lichen--weird and shaggy. The latter, seen
in the dusk, are calculated to terrify a chance comer who might find
himself in their neighborhood; for he would probably mistake them for
goblins.

A copious spring of excellent water and several convenient crevices in
the surrounding rocks made Davie's place an excellent site for a still.
His son Jock was occupied with odd jobs provided for him as handy man
at a shooting lodge not far from the foot of the hill, where he tended
the garden and looked after the pony at ordinary times, and acted as
gillie when the shooting season came round. Peter did most of the work
on the croft, lower down the hill; for David himself was getting past
arduous labors, though he directed the distilling, in which Peter, and
occasionally Jock, did the greater part of the work. Much of the
barley for the still grew on their own land, where also they raised
corn for their own oatmeal and for Maggie Jean's chickens, as well as
turnips for her "coo." The customers for whiskey were many; for owing
to its innocence of government duty it was cheaper than could be got
from a merchant, while for quality it was renowned. Davie was a past
master in the art of distilling, and the secluded nature of his
storehouses enabled him to keep it until its rawness had worn off with
age.

Many a tale was told of Davie's adventures in his contraband trade. In
days when he was young and strong revenue officers would scour the
hills with a small band of soldiers in their company, the better to
over-awe the country folk. On one such occasion Davie had the
misfortune to be apprehended in his house, when off his guard; for he
was well known to the preventive men of the district, who had long been
seeking to trap him. They had tracked him from his still, which they