him home, and help him off with his horse's load.
The domestic peace and comfort of Priesthill are talked of to this day; and many anecdotes are told, and one among the rest, that illustrates the precept of hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. The second year after his marriage, one night in the beginning of winter, John Brown had gone to a neighbour's house: the family at home were preparing the wool of their flocks for hodden grey cloth, to sell at Lowrie's fair in Hamilton. The shepherd carded the black and white wool together, for the women to spin; Janet and the herd-boy were teasing for the carder; the gudewife sat nursing her first-born son at one side of the fire; when the dog, which lay at full length at the other, started up, and ran to the door, barking at the approach of a stranger. Isabell thought it would be her husband returned, and was about to rise to meet him. Janet and the herd were almost as soon at the door as the dog, and calling to him, "Whisht, Collie, whisht, ye mu'na speak to the unco man." The herd caught the dog in his arms, and returned with him into the house, while Janet followed, lead-ing a stranger, first looking to her mother for encouragement, and then to her guest. She led him to her father's chair with a courtesy that seemed to give rise to strong emotions in his heart.
The stranger was young in years, of a little stature, and fine fair countenance, but he was palo with fatigue and sickness. His shoes were worn out; a shepherd's plaid hung round him, seemingly for disguise, for by his dress
