For all there was sic fear ower the hale farm-toon 'at naebody would gang ower the door alane after the gloamin' cam, the mester said he wasna fleid to sleep i' the kitchen by 'imsel.

We thocht it richt brave o' 'im, for ye see he was as helpless as a bairn.
"Richt queer stories rose aboot the cradle, an' travelled to the ither farms.

The wife didna like them ava, for it was said 'at there maun hae been some awful murder o' an infant on the farm, or we wouldna be haunted by a cradle.

Syne folk began to mind 'at there had been na bairns born on the farm as far back as onybody kent, an' it was said 'at some lang syne crime had made the Bog cursed.
"Dinna think 'at we juist lay in our beds or sat round the fire shakkin' wi' fear.

Everything 'at could be dune was dune.