"Is this your wush?" asked the Man of Peace.

"This is my wush," said the Laird, striking his rung upon the ground.

The words had scarcely passed his lips when the whole homestead of
Brockburn, house and farm buildings, was planted upon the bleak
hill-side.

The astonished Laird now began to bewail the rash wish which had
removed his home from the sheltered and fertile valley where it
originally stood to the barren side of a bleak mountain.

The Man of Peace, however, would not take any hints as to undoing his
work of his own accord. All he said was:

"If ye wush it away, so it'll be. But then ye'll only have one wush
left. Ye've small discretion the nicht, Brockburn, I'm feared."

"To leave the steading in sic a spot is no to be thought on," sighed
the Laird, as he spent his second wish in undoing his first. But he
cannily added the provision:

"And ye may tak me wi' it."

The words were no sooner spoken than the homestead was back in its
place, and Brockburn himself was lying in his own bed, Jock, his
favourite collie, barking and licking his face by turns for joy.

"Whisht, whisht, Jock!" said the Laird. "Ye wouldna bark when I begged
of ye, so ye may hand your peace noo."