Devil in Scotland

THE DEVIL IN SCOTLAND
Mr. Soulis was feared for neither man nor deevil. He
got his tinder-box, an’ lit a can’le, an’ made three steps
o’t ower to Janet’s door. It was on the hasp, an’ he
pushed it open, an’ keeked bauldly in. It was a big
room, as big as the minister’s ain, an’ plenished wi’
grand, auld solid gear, for he had naething else. There
was a fower-posted bed wi’ auld tapestry; an’ a braw
cabinet o’ aik, that was fu’ o’ the minister’s divinity
books, an’ put there to be out o’ the gate; an’ a wheen
duds o’ Janet’s lying here an’ there about the floor. But
nae Janet could Mr. Soulis see; nor ony sign o’ a con¬
tention. In he gaed (an’ there’s few that wad hae fol¬
lowed him) an’ lookit a’ round, an’ listened. But there
was naething to be heard, neither inside the manse nor
in a’ Ba’weary parish, an’ naething to be seen but the
muckle shadows turnin’ round the can’le. An’ then, a’ at
aince, the minister’s heart played dunt an’ stood stock¬
still; an’ a cauld wind blew amang the hairs o’ his heid.
Whaten a weary sicht was that for the puir man’s e’en!
For there was Janet hangin’ frae a nail beside the auld
aik cabinet: her heid aye lay on her shouther, her e’en
were steekit, the tongue projekit frae her mouth, an’ her
heels were twa feet clear abune the floor.
‘God forgive us all!’ thocht Mr. Soulis, ‘poor Janet’s
dead.’
He cam’ a step nearer to the corp; an’ then his heart
fair whammled in his inside. For by what cantrip it wad
ill beseem a man to judge, she was hangin’ frae a single
nail an’ by a single wursted thread for darnin’ hose.
It’s an awfu’ thing to be your lane at nicht wi’ siccan
prodigies o’ darkness; but Mr. Soulis was strong in the
Lord. He turned an’ gaed his ways oot o’ that room, an’
90