Chapter 8 - Page 2

weelnigh as sair as mine;
little think they what a sorrowful house they are bringing their venison
to! I'll ride ower Mucklestane-Moor mysell."

"And if I were you," said Dick of the Dingle, "I would speak to Canny
Elshie. He can tell you whatever betides in this land, if he's sae
minded."

"He SHALL tell me," said Hobbie, who was busy putting his arms in order,
"what he kens o' this night's job, or I shall right weel ken wherefore
he does not."

"Ay, but speak him fair, my bonny man--speak him fair Hobbie; the
like o' him will no bear thrawing. They converse sae muckle wi' thae
fractious ghaists and evil spirits, that it clean spoils their temper."

"Let me alane to guide him," answered Hobbie; "there's that in my breast
this day, that would ower-maister a' the warlocks on earth, and a' the
devils in hell."

And being now fully equipped, he threw himself on his horse, and spurred
him at a rapid pace against the steep ascent.

Elliot speedily surmounted the hill, rode down the other side at the
same rate, crossed a wood, and traversed a long glen, ere he at length
regained Mucklestane-Moor. As he was obliged, in the course of his
journey, to relax his speed in consideration of the labour which his
horse might still have to undergo, he had time to consider maturely in
what manner he should address the Dwarf, in order to extract from him
the knowledge which he supposed him to be in possession of concerning
the authors of his misfortunes. Hobbie, though blunt, plain of speech,
and hot of disposition, like most of his countrymen, was by no means
deficient in the shrewdness which is also their characteristic. He
reflected, that from what he had observed on the memorable night when
the Dwarf was first seen, and from the conduct of that mysterious being
ever since, he was likely to be rendered even more obstinate in his
sullenness by threats and violence.

"I'll speak him fair," he said, "as auld Dickon advised me. Though folk
say he has a league wi' Satan, he canna be sic an incarnate devil as no
to take some pity in a case like mine; and folk threep he'll whiles do
good, charitable sort o' things. I'll keep my heart doun as weel as I
can, and stroke him wi' the hair; and if the warst come to the warst,
it's but wringing the head o' him about at last."

In this disposition of accommodation he approached the hut of the
Solitary.

The old man was not upon his seat of audience, nor could Hobbie perceive
him in his garden, or enclosures.

"He's gotten into his very keep," said Hobbie, "maybe to be out o'
the gate; but I'se pu' it doun about his lugs, if I canna