incredulous.

[Footnote 1: _Shian_, a Gaelic name for fairy towers, which by day are
not to be told from mountain crags.]

Not that he bore any ill-will to the Good People, or spoke uncivilly
of them; indeed he always disavowed any feeling of disrespect towards
them if they existed, saying that he was a man of peace himself, and
anxious to live peaceably with whatever neighbours he had, but that
till he had seen one of the _Daoiné Shi_[2] he could not believe in
them.

[Footnote 2: _Daoiné Shi_ (pronounced _Dheener Shee_) = Men of Peace.]

Now one afternoon, between Hallowmas and Yule, it chanced that the
Laird, being out on the hills looking for some cattle, got parted from
his men and dogs and was overtaken by a mist, in which, familiar as
the country was to him, he lost his way.

In vain he raised his voice high, and listened low, no sound of man or
beast came back to him through the thickening vapour.

Then night fell, and darkness was added to the fog, so that Brockburn
needed to sound every step with his _rung_[3] before he took it.

[Footnote 3: _Rung_ = a thick stick.]

Suddenly light footsteps pattered beside him, then Something rubbed
against him, then It ran between his legs. The delighted Laird made
sure that his favourite collie had found him once more.