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“
Why
,
”
I
said
,
laggingly
,
after
the
silence
—
“
why
did
I
call
the
child
who
used
to
play
with
me
‘
Wee
Brown
Elspeth
’
?
”
“
It
was
your
own
fancy
,
”
was
his
reply
.
“
I
used
to
wonder
myself
;
but
I
made
up
my
mind
that
you
had
heard
some
of
the
maids
talking
and
the
name
had
caught
your
ear
.
That
would
be
a
child
’
s
way
.
”
I
put
my
forehead
in
my
hands
and
thought
again
.
So
many
years
had
passed
!
I
had
been
little
more
than
a
baby
;
the
whole
thing
seemed
like
a
half
-
forgotten
dream
when
I
tried
to
recall
it
—
but
I
seemed
to
dimly
remember
strange
things
.
“
Who
were
the
wild
men
who
brought
her
to
me
first
—
that
day
on
the
moor
?
”
I
said
.
“
I
do
remember
they
had
pale
,
savage
,
exultant
faces
.
And
torn
,
stained
clothes
.
And
broken
dirks
and
swords
.
But
they
were
glad
of
something
.
Who
were
they
?
”
“
I
did
not
see
them
.
The
mist
was
too
thick
,
”
he
answered
.
“
They
were
some
wild
hunters
,
perhaps
.
”
“
It
gives
me
such
a
strange
feeling
to
try
to
remember
,
Angus
,
”
I
said
,
lifting
my
forehead
from
my
hands
.
“
Don
’
t
try
,
”
he
said
.
“
Give
me
the
manuscript
and
get
down
from
the
step
-
ladder
.
Come
and
look
at
the
list
of
books
I
have
made
for
Mr
.
MacNairn
.
”
I
did
as
he
told
me
,
but
I
felt
as
if
I
were
walking
in
a
dream
.
My
mind
seemed
to
have
left
my
body
and
gone
back
to
the
day
when
I
sat
a
little
child
on
the
moor
and
heard
the
dull
sound
of
horses
’
feet
and
the
jingling
metal
and
the
creak
of
leather
coming
nearer
in
the
thick
mist
.
I
felt
as
if
Angus
were
in
a
queer
,
half
-
awake
mood
,
too
—
as
if
two
sets
of
thoughts
were
working
at
the
same
time
in
his
mind
:
one
his
thoughts
about
Hector
MacNairn
and
the
books
,
the
other
some
queer
thoughts
which
went
on
in
spite
of
him
.
