IIEPORT OF THE MEETINGS FOR 1896 33 



basins which are still to be seen here in the bed of the Hart — 

 and were every moonlight summer's evening seen, like so many 

 water fowls flickering and bathing in them. The well itself 

 was their great council hall, and the eye of the kiln their 

 kitchen, where in boiling their pottage they burnt the seeds of 

 husks of oats the miller laid up for drying the corn he had next 

 to grind. The meat and firing thus made use of they took as a 

 customary claim for guarding and charming the mill and other 

 useful services; but the miller, thinking them too extravagant, 

 was determined to disturb them ; and while they were preparing 

 their supper one night threw a sod down the chimney, and 

 instantly fled. The falling mass dashed soot, fire, and boiling 

 pottage amongst them; and the trembling fugitive, before he 

 could reach the dingy verge of the glen, heard the cry, ' Burnt 

 and scalded ! burnt and scalded ! — the sell of the mill has done 

 it;' and the old mother of the family set after him, and just as 

 he got to the style going into Ruthley, touched him, and he 

 doubled up, was bow-bent, and a cripple to his dying day ! " 



THE DRIVE TO REDPATH. 



Proceeding up the "Pilgrims' Path," along which in olden 

 times pilgrims and others were wont to journey from Dryburgh 

 Abbey to the Hospital of Soutra, the company were within easy 

 view of Smailholm Tower, where Sir Walter Scott visited from 

 time to time, and where he places the scene of his " Eve of St. 

 John." A little to the north is the site of the ancient hamlet of 

 Wrangholm, the reputed birthplace of St. Cuthbert. Next came 

 under notice the once universally dreaded Hen Dean, where 60 

 years ago — says Mr Wood — when superstition was more rife than 

 now, it was considered an act of unheard-of heroism to pass this 

 place in the dark without whistling. It was believed that a head- 

 less hen going up and down the dean in the dark calling ' chuck ! 

 chuck ! chuck ! ' was a demon in disguise. Pedpath was then 

 reached. Its lands came into possession of the Abbey of 

 Melrose somewhere in the 14th century, having been gifted to 

 the monks by Thomas Randolph of Moray, whose tower stood 

 at the west end of the village. Another tower stood at the east 

 end, and at that time the place was said to have had a population 

 of 600 inhabitants. Now it wears a very quiet and decaj^ed 

 appearance. Once it was the busy seat of the hand-loom 

 weaving industry, and about the beginning of the century the 

 F 



