listening, and considered that it was safer not to meddle with
certain nameless people. But Donald waged an open warfare in every
corner of the parish, in the Kirk, by the wayside, in his house, on
the road to market, and was ready to give any one the benefit of his
experiences.

"Donald Menzies is in yonder," said Hillocks, pointing to the
smithy, whose fire sent fitful gleams across the dark road, "and
he's carryin' on maist fearsome. Ye wud think tae hear him speak
that auld Hornie wes gaein' louse in the parish; it sent a grue
(shiver) doon ma back. Faigs, it's no cannie to be muckle wi' the
body, for the Deil and Donald seem never separate. Hear him noo,
hear him."

"Oh yes," said Donald, addressing the smith and two horror-stricken
ploughmen, "I hef seen him, and he hass withstood me on the road. It
wass late, and I wass thinking on the shepherd and the sheep, and
Satan will come out from the wood below Hillocks' farm-house ('Gude
preserve us,' from Hillocks) and say, 'That word is not for you,
Donald Menzies,' But I wass strong that night, and I said, 'Neither
shall any pluck them out of my hand,' and he will not wait long
after that, oh no, and I did not follow him into the wood."

The smith, released by the conclusion of the tale, blew a mighty
blast, and the fire burst into a red blaze, throwing into relief the
black figure of the smith and the white faces of the ploughmen;
glancing from the teeth of harrows, and the blades of scythes, and
the cruel knives of reaping machines, and from instruments with
triple prongs; and lighting up with a hideous glare the black sooty
recesses of the smithy.