In this state of mind, he was very glad to hear a friendly voice shout in his rear, and propose to him a partner on the road.  He slackened his pace, and was quickly joined by a youth well known to him, a gentleman of some fortune in that remote country, and who had been abroad on the same errand with himself.  Young Earnscliff, “of that ilk,” had lately come of age, and succeeded to a moderate fortune, a good deal dilapidated, from the share his family had taken in the disturbances of the period.  They were much and generally respected in the country; a reputation which this young gentleman seemed likely to sustain, as he was well educated, and of excellent dispositions.

“Now, Earnscliff;” exclaimed Hobbie, “I am glad to meet your honour ony gate, and company’s blithe on a bare moor like this—­it’s an unco bogilly bit—­Where hae ye been sporting?”

“Up the Carla Cleugh, Hobbie,” answered Earnscliff, returning his greeting.  “But will our dogs keep the peace, think you?”

“Deil a fear o’ mine,” said Hobbie, “they hae scarce a leg to stand on.—­Odd! the deer’s fled the country, I think!  I have been as far as Inger-fell-foot, and deil a horn has Hobbie seen, excepting three red-wud raes, that never let me within shot of them, though I gaed a mile round to get up the wind to them, an’ a’.  Deil o’ me wad care muckle, only I wanted some venison to our auld gude-dame.  The carline, she sits in the neuk yonder, upbye, and cracks about the grand shooters and hunters lang syne—­Odd, I think they hae killed a’ the deer in the country, for my part.”

“Well, Hobbie, I have shot a fat buck, and sent him to Earnscliff this morning—­you shall have half of him for your grandmother.”

“Mony thanks to ye, Mr. Patrick, ye’re kend to a’ the country for a kind heart.  It will do the auld wife’s heart gude—­mair by token, when she kens it comes frae you—­and maist of a’ gin ye’ll come up and take your share, for I reckon ye are lonesome now in the auld tower, and a’ your folk at that weary Edinburgh.  I wonder what they can find to do amang a wheen ranks o’ stane-houses wi’ slate on the tap o’ them, that might live on their ain bonny green hills.”

“My education and my sisters’ has kept my mother much in Edinburgh for several years,” said Earnscliff; “but I promise you I propose to make up for lost time.”

“And ye’ll rig out the auld tower a bit,” said Hobbie, “and live hearty and neighbour-like wi’ the auld family friends, as the Laird o’ Earnscliff should?  I can tell ye, my mother—­my grandmother I mean—­but, since we lost our ain mother, we ca’ her sometimes the tane, and sometimes the tother—­but, ony gate, she conceits hersell no that distant connected wi’ you.”

“Very true, Hobbie, and I will come to the Heugh-foot to dinner to-morrow with all my heart.”

“Weel, that’s kindly said!  We are auld neighbours, an we were nae kin—­and my gude-dame’s fain to see you—­she clavers about your father that was killed lang syne.”