The peat-fire flame : folk-tales and traditions of the Highlands & Islands

THE PEAT-FIRE FLAME
thimble in his pocket, he quickly snipped the thread, and took
to his heels, the Evil One in pursuit of him. Down the glen
he ran, toward the Castle of Saddell—down the long beech
avenue, the pursuer gaining on him with every step. The
tailor just succeeded in reaching the castle gate, and in
closing it fast behind him. In wrath the ghostly form
crashed his hand against one of the stone pillars supporting
the gate ; and the imprint of his fingers and thumb may be
seen there to this day.
And this brings us to the next tale.
The Brogues of Love.
It was at her sister's wedding-feast in her old father's
barn in Glen Barr that Mairi herself first put the spell on
Eachunn, the brightest and brawest chiel in all Kintyre;
and from that very day the brogues of love took their own
way on the road to romance.
Well, the long, dreary winter nights were nearing an end,
for the spring evenings already had unsheathed their green
excaliburs, and, with the dexterity of good sw^ordsmen, w^ere
fencing vigorously before the onset of summer. Bonnie,
indeed, is Kintyre at this time of the year, with its mossygreen
straths and wimpling burns, each with a melody of its
own to sing, and a story of its own to tell.
Now% the incident I am about to narrate occurred in the
days when the roof was still on the old Abbey of Windswept
Saddell of Monks. Built, it is supposed, in the time of the
Great Somerled within the quiet seclusion of a glen running
down to the western sea, this hoary place long maintained
its association with the pow^erf ul Lords of the Isles ; but,
following upon the decay of their authority, and the
consecjuent decline in their benevolence and patronage, the
Cistercian monastery at Saddell began to sink gently into
lassitude and dreamy forgetfulness.
Howbeit, there still remained wdthin its hallowed walls a
few of the holy brethren. Old and feeble though they had
grown, they faithfully kept a dim, mysterious lamp burning
on the high altar, whereon rested in solemn silence the skull
of tlie founder of their Abbey. And eerie are the folk-tales
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