ily and its enterprise, the sheriff of the county, with his wife and grown daughter, came to pay a visit of friendship and farewell; Mrs. Morrison's youngest brother with a grown daughter also came. Neighbors, too, helpful and otherwise, had been going and coming all day. In arranging accommodations for the night, the oldest children were sent to sleep with kindred near by, to make room for the visiting friends from a distance. Rees returning made six adults where the normal conditions were for six children, from an infant up to the age of thirteen. There were four beds made in the room, screened by homemade blankets, or quilts; and a shakedown was placed in the middle of the floor for Rees and myself. The two girls were keeping up a playful titter somewhere out of sight, and I confess that I got into my couch with some feeling of constraint. But the sheriff relieved the situation, when all were placed, by asking from his perch, "Can either of you young men sing?" Rees replied, "Yes, John has lots of songs." Of course, John was pressed to begin, and the girls unseen were making a lively merriment which converted John's bashfulness into a spirit of mischief, and he sang to them:
"Will you go, lassie, go to the braes of Balquihidder,
Where the blaeberries grow, mang the bonny highland heather;
Where the deer and the roe, lightly bounding together,
Spend the lang summer day 'mid the braes of Balquihidder."
In front of the house we had that day begun to change a large four-horse wagon, to be drawn by yokes of heavy oxen. Its last use had been to bring in a full load of venison and wild honey, results of a three weeks' outing of Morrison and his wife's brothers, Robert and James Irwin; the latter, a listener to my song. He said, after I had finished, "Well, there is surely more where that came from; sing us another, young man."
