“And what do you want here, Donald Stuart?”

“The verra question she’d be askin’ ye’sel’—­wha’ gars ye tae come gowkin’ an’ spierin’ aboot here at sic an hour?”

“It is my intention to live here, for the future,” said I.

“Hoot toot! ye’ll be no meanin’ it?”

“But I do mean it,” said I.

“Eh, man! but ye maun ken the place is no canny, what wi’ pixies, an’ warlocks, an’ kelpies, forbye—­”

“Indeed, they told me it was haunted, but I determined to see for myself.”

“Weel?”

“Well, I am glad to find it haunted by nothing worse than a wandering Scots piper.”

The Highlander smiled his wry smile, and taking out a snuff-box, inhaled a pinch, regarding me the while.

“Ye’re the first as ever stayed—­after they’d heard the first bit squeakie, tae find out if ’t were a real bogle or no.”

“But how in the world did you make such awful sounds?”

“I’m thinkin’ it’s the bit squeakie ye’ll be meanin’?” he inquired.

“Yes; how did you do it?”

“Oh, it’s juist the pipes!” he answered, patting them affectionately, “will I show ye the noo?”

“Pray do,” said I. Hereupon he set the mouthpiece to his lips, inflated the bag, stopped the vents with his fingers, and immediately the air vibrated with the bubbling scream I have already attempted to describe.

“Oh, man!” he exclaimed, laying the still groaning instrument gently aside, “oh, man! is it no juist won’erful?”

“But what has been your object in terrifying people out of their wits in this manner?”

“Sir, it’s a’ on account o’ the snuff.”

“Snuff!” I repeated.

“Juist that!” he nodded.

“Snuff,” said I again; “what do you mean?”

The Piper smiled again—­a slow smile, that seemingly dawned only to vanish again; it was, indeed, if I may so express it, a grave and solemn smile, and his nearest approach to mirth, for not once in the days which followed did I ever see him give vent to a laugh.  I here also take the opportunity to say that I have greatly modified his speech in the writing, for it was so broad that I had much ado to grasp his meaning at times.

The Piper smiled, then, and, unwinding the plaid from his shoulder, spread it upon the floor, and sat down.

“Ye maun ken,” he began, “that I hae muckle love for the snuff, an’ snuff is unco expenseeve in these parts.”

“Well?” said I.

“Ye maun ken, in the second place, that ma brither Alan canna’ abide the snuff.”

“Your brother Alan!” said I wondering.

“Ma brither Alan,” he nodded gravely.

“But what of him, what has he to do with—­”

“Man, bide a wee.  I’m comin’ tae that.”

“Go on, then,” said I, “I’m listening.”