"I'll swear he's a taistrel," he said one day; "I dare not trust him with a mess of poddish until I'd had the first sup." In spite of this determined disbelief on the part of the head of the family, old Wilson remained for a long time a member of the household at Shoulthwaite Moss, following his occupations with constancy, and always obsequious in the acknowledgment of his obligations.

It was observed that he manifested a peculiar eagerness when through any stray channel intelligence was received in the valley of the sayings and doings in the world outside.

Nothing was thought of this until one day the passing pedler brought the startling news that the Lord Protector was dead.

The family were at breakfast in the kitchen of the old house when this tardy representative of the herald Mercury arrived, and, in reply to the customary inquiry as to the news he carried, announced the aforesaid fact.

Wilson was alive to its significance with a curious wakefulness.
"It's braw tidings ye bring the day, man," he stammered with evident concern, and with an effort to hide his nervousness.
"Yes, the old man's dead," said the pedler, with an air of consequence commensurate with his message.