It was a humorous story, and was capped there and then by his cousin of the Dreichill, who told a ghastly tale of a murder in the wilds.

Then a lonely man, Simon o' the Heid o' the Hope, glorified his powers on a January night when he swung himself on a flood-gate over the Aller while the thing quivered beneath him, and the water roared redly above his thighs.
"And that yett broke when I was three pairts ower, and I went down the river with my feet tangled in the bars and nae room for sweemin'.

But I gripped an oak-ritt and stelled mysel' for an hour till the water knockit the yett to sawdust.

It broke baith my ankles, and though I'm a mortal strong man in my arms, thae twisted kitts keepit me helpless.
When a man's feet are broke he has nae strength in his wrist." "I know," said Lewis, with excitement.

"I have found the same myself." "Where ?" asked the man, without rudeness.
"Once on the Skifso when I was after salmon, and once in the Doorab hills above Abjela." "Were ye sick when they rescued ye?
I was.