I COMB TO MY JOURNEY'S END.                  9
surprise those of whom I sought my way. At first I
thought the plainness of my appearance, in my country
habit, and that all dusty from the road, consorted ill
with the greatness of the place to which I was bound.
But after two, or maybe three, had given me the same
look and the same answer, I began to take it in my head
there was something strange about the Shaws itself.
The better to set this fear at rest, I changed the form
of my inquiries; and spying an honest fellow coming
along a lane on the shaft of his cart, I asked him if he
had ever heard tell of a house they called the house of
Shaws.
He stopped his cart and looked at me, like the
others.
"Ay," said he.    "What for?"
"It's a great house?" I asked.
"Doubtless," says he. "The house is a big, muckle
house."
"Ay," said I, " but the folk that are in it?"
"Folk?" cried he. "Are ye daft? There's nae
folk there—to call folk."
"What?" says I; "not Mr. Ebenezer?"
"Oh, ay," says the man," there's the laird, to be
sure, if it's him you're wanting. What'll like be your
business, mannie?"
"I was led to think that I would get a situation," I
said, looking as modest as I could.
"What?" cries the carter, in so sharp a note that
his very horse started; and then, "Well, mannie," he