The Seven Lights

To the vagrant beggar his house and meal-chest were ever open; and to
no one, whatever his condition, were a night's quarters ever refused.
M'Pherson's house, in short, formed a kind of focus, with a power to
draw towards itself all the misery and poverty in the country within a
circle whose diameter might be reckoned at somewhere about twenty
miles. The wandering mendicant made it one of his regular stages, and
the traveller of better degree toiled on his way with increased
activity, that he might make it his quarters for the night.

Fortunately for the character and credit of M'Pherson's hospitality,
his wife was of an equally kind and generous disposition with himself;
so that his absences from home, which were frequent, and sometimes
long, did not at all affect the treatment of the stranger under his
roof, or make his welcome less cordial.

But the hospitality exercised at Morvane, which was the name of
M'Pherson's farm, sometimes, it must be confessed, led to occasional
small depredations--such as the loss of a pair of blankets, a sheet,
or a pair of stockings, carried off by the ungrateful vagabonds whom
he sometimes sheltered. There were, however, one pair of blankets
abstracted in this way, that found their road back to their owner in
rather a curious manner.

The morning was thick and misty, when the thief (in the case alluded
to) decamped with his booty, and continued so during the whole day, so
that no object, at any distance, however large, could be seen. After
toiling for several hours, under the impression that he was leaving
Morvane far behind, the vagabond, who was also a stranger in the
country, approached a house, with the stolen blankets snugly and
carefully bundled on his back, and knocked at the door, with the view
of seeking a night's quarters, as it was now dusk. The door was
opened; but by whom, think you, good reader? Why, by M'Pherson!

The thief, without knowing it, had landed precisely at the point from
which he had set out. Being instantly recognised, he was politely
invited to walk in. To this kind invitation, the thief replied by
throwing down the blankets, and taking to his heels--thus making, with
his own hands, a restitution which was very far from being intended.
Poor M'Pherson, however, did not get all his stolen blankets back in
this way.

This, however, is a digression. To proceed with our tale. One night,
when M'Pherson was absent, attending a market at some distance, an
elderly female appeared at the door, with the usual demand of a
night's lodging, which, with the usual hospitality of Morvane, was at
once complied with. The stranger, who was a remarkably tall woman, was
dressed in widow's weeds, and of rather respectable appearance; her
deportment was grave, even stern, and altogether she seemed as if
suffering from some recent affliction.