PASTORAL 47 —by two men after his watch,—and at least once, betrayed by his habitual anger, fell under the danger of the law and was clapped into some rustic prison-house, the doors of which he burst in the night and was no more heard of in that quarter. When I knew him, his life had fallen in quieter places, and he had no cares beyond the dullness of his dogs and the inroads of pedestrians from town. But for a man of his propensity to wrath these were enough; he knew neither rest nor peace, except by snatches ; in the gray of the summer morning, and already from far up the hill, he would wake the ' toun' with the sound of his shoutings ; and in the lambing time his cries were not yet silenced late at night. This wrathful voice of a man unseen might be said to haunt that quarter of the Pentlands, an audible bogie, and no doubt it added to the fear in which men stood of John, a touch of something legendary. For my own part, he was at first my enemy, and I, in my character of a rambling boy, his natural abhorrence. It was long before I saw Mm near at hand, knowing him only by some sudden blast of bellowing from far above, bidding me ' c'way oot amang the sheep.' The quietest recesses of the hill harboured this ogre ; I skulked in my favourite wilderness like a Cameronian of the Killing Time, and John Todd was my Claverhouse, and his dogs my questing dragoons. Little by little we dropped into civilities ; his hail at sight of me began to have less of the ring of a war-slogan ; soon, we never met but he produced his snuff-box, which was with him, like the calumet with the Red Indian, a part of the heraldry of peace ; and at length, in the ripeness of time, we grew to be a pair of friends, and wheji I lived alone in these parts in the winter, it was a settled thing for John to c give me a cry ' over the garden wall as he set forth upon his evening round, and for me to overtake and bear hi in company. That dread voice of his that shook the hills when he was angry, fell in ordinary talk very pleasantly upon the ear, with a kind of honied, friendly whine, not far off singing, that was eminently Scottish. He laughed not very often, and when he did, with a sudden, loud haw-haw, hearty but somehow joyless, like an echo from a rock.