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Quick then, as lightning frae the sky, The spectres' with a horrid cry, A' vanished in a clap o' thun'er, While Thrummy at the same did won'er. The room was quiet now and dark, An' Thrummy stirping in his sark: Glauming the gate back to his bed, He thinks he hears a person tread, An' ere he gat without the door, The Ghaist again stood him before, And in his face did staring stand, Wi' a big candle in its hand. Quoth Thrummy, Friend, I want to know What brings you frae the shades below? I in my Maker's name command You tell your story just aff hand? Fat wad ye hae ? — I'll do my best For you to let you be at rest. Then says the Ghaist; ? 'Tis thirty year, Since I've been doom'd to wander here ; In all that time there has been none Behav'd sae bold as ye have done : Sae if you'll do a job for me, Disturbance mair I'll never gie. Sae on your tale, quoth Thrummy, To do you justice sure will try. Then mark me weel, the Ghaist replied, And ye shall soon be satisfied :
