The Antiquary — Complete by Walter Scott (good books to read for 12 year olds .txt) 📗

reason why a gallant knight like you, nearly twice as tall, and not half so heavy, should not encounter and break the spell.”

“What! a haunted apartment, I suppose?”

“To be sure, to be sure—every mansion in this country of the slightest antiquity has its ghosts and its haunted chamber, and you must not suppose us worse off than our neighbours. They are going, indeed, somewhat out of fashion. I have seen the day, when if you had doubted the reality of a ghost in an old manor-house you ran the risk of being made a ghost yourself, as Hamlet says.—Yes, if you had challenged the existence of Redcowl in the Castle of Glenstirym, old Sir Peter Pepperbrand would have had ye out to his court-yard, made you betake yourself to your weapon, and if your trick of fence were not the better, would have sticked you like a paddock, on his own baronial midden-stead. I once narrowly escaped such an affray—but I humbled myself, and apologised to Redcowl; for, even in my younger days, I was no friend to the monomachia, or duel, and would rather walk with Sir Priest than with Sir Knight—I care not who knows so much of my valour. Thank God, I am old now, and can indulge my irritabilities without the necessity of supporting them by cold steel.”

Here Miss Oldbuck re-entered, with a singularly sage expression of countenance.—“Mr. Lovel’s bed’s ready, brother—clean sheets—weel aired—a spunk of fire in the chimney—I am sure, Mr. Lovel,” (addressing him), “it’s no for the trouble—and I hope you will have a good night’s rest—But”—

“You are resolved,” said the Antiquary, “to do what you can to prevent it.”

“Me?—I am sure I have said naething, Monkbarns.”

“My dear madam,” said Lovel, “allow me to ask you the meaning of your obliging anxiety on my account.”

“Ou, Monkbarns does not like to hear of it—but he kens himsell that the room has an ill name. It’s weel minded that it was there auld Rab Tull the town-clerk was sleeping when he had that marvellous communication about the grand law-plea between us and the feuars at the Mussel-craig. —It had cost a hantle siller, Mr. Lovel; for law-pleas were no carried on without siller lang syne mair than they are now—and the Monkbarns of that day—our gudesire, Mr. Lovel, as I said before—was like to be waured afore the Session for want of a paper—Monkbarns there kens weel what paper it was, but I’se warrant he’ll no help me out wi’ my tale—but it was a paper of great significance to the plea, and we were to be waured for want o’t. Aweel, the cause was to come on before the fifteen—in presence, as they ca’t—and auld Rab Tull, the town-clerk, he cam ower to make a last search for the paper that was wanting, before our gudesire gaed into Edinburgh to look after his plea—so there was little time to come and gang on. He was but a doited snuffy body, Rab, as I’ve heard —but then he was the town-clerk of Fairport, and the Monkbarns heritors aye employed him on account of their connection wi’ the burgh, ye ken.”

“Sister Grizel, this is abominable,” interrupted Oldbuck; “I vow to Heaven ye might have raised the ghosts of every abbot of Trotcosey, since the days of Waldimir, in the time you have been detailing the introduction to this single spectre.—Learn to be succinct in your narrative.—Imitate the concise style of old Aubrey, an experienced ghost-seer, who entered his memoranda on these subjects in a terse business-like manner; exempli gratia—At Cirencester, 5th March, 1670, was an apparition.—Being demanded whether good spirit or bad, made no answer, but instantly disappeared with a curious perfume, and a melodious twang’—Vide his Miscellanies, p. eighteen, as well as I can remember, and near the middle of the page.”

“O, Monkbarns, man! do ye think everybody is as book-learned as yoursell?—But ye like to gar folk look like fools—ye can do that to Sir Arthur, and the minister his very sell.”

“Nature has been beforehand with me, Grizel, in both these instances, and in another which shall be nameless—but take a glass of ale, Grizel, and proceed with your story, for it waxes late.”

“Jenny’s just warming your bed, Monkbarns, and ye maun e’en wait till she’s done.—Weel, I was at the search that our gudesire, Monkbarns that then was, made wi’ auld Rab Tull’s assistance;—but ne’er-be-licket could they find that was to their purpose. And sae after they had touzled out mony a leather poke-full o’ papers, the town-clerk had his drap punch at e’en to wash the dust out of his throat—we never were glass-breakers in this house, Mr. Lovel, but the body had got sic a trick of sippling and tippling wi’ the bailies and deacons when they met (which was amaist ilka night) concerning the common gude o’ the burgh, that he couldna weel sleep without it—But his punch he gat, and to bed he gaed; and in the middle of the night he got a fearfu’ wakening!—he was never just himsell after it, and he was strucken wi’ the dead palsy that very day four years. He thought, Mr. Lovel, that he heard the curtains o’ his bed fissil, and out he lookit, fancying, puir man, it might hae been the cat—But he saw—God hae a care o’ us! it gars my flesh aye creep, though I hae tauld the story twenty times—he saw a weel-fa’ard auld gentleman standing by his bedside, in the moonlight, in a queer-fashioned dress, wi’ mony a button and band-string about it, and that part o’ his garments which it does not become a leddy to particulareeze, was baith side and wide, and as mony plies o’t as of ony Hamburgh skipper’s—He had a beard too, and whiskers turned upwards on his upper-lip, as lang as baudrons’—and mony mair particulars there were that Rab Tull tauld o’, but they are forgotten now—it’s an auld story. Aweel, Rab was a just-living man for a country writer—and he was less feared than maybe might just hae been expected; and he asked in the name o’ goodness what the apparition wanted—and the spirit answered in an unknown tongue. Then Rab said he tried him wi’ Erse, for he cam in his youth frae the braes of Glenlivat—but it wadna do. Aweel, in this strait, he bethought him of the twa or three words o’ Latin that he used in making out the town’s deeds, and he had nae sooner tried the spirit wi’ that, than out cam sic a blatter o’ Latin about his lugs, that poor Rab Tull, wha was nae great scholar, was clean overwhelmed. Od, but he was a bauld body, and he minded the Latin name for the deed that he was wanting. It was something about a cart, I fancy, for the ghaist cried aye, Carter, carter—”

“Carta, you transformer of languages!” cried Oldbuck;—“if my ancestor had learned no other language in the other world, at least he would not forget the Latinity for which he was so famous while in this.”

“Weel, weel, carta be it then, but they ca’d it carter that tell’d me the story. It cried aye carta, if sae be that it was carta, and made a sign to Rab to follow it. Rab Tull keepit a Highland heart, and banged out o’ bed, and till some of his readiest claes—and he did follow the thing up stairs and down stairs to the place we ca’ the high dow-cot—(a sort of a little tower in the corner of the auld house, where there was a Rickle o’ useless boxes and trunks)—and there the ghaist gae Rab a kick wi’ the tae foot, and a kick wi’ the tother, to that very auld east-country tabernacle of a cabinet that my brother has standing beside his library table, and then disappeared like