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BY THE SAMEAUTHOR.   UniformEdition, Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. DOOM CASTLE.  A Romance. “He may now be ranked with absoluteconfidence among the small company of novelists whose work reallycounts as literature.”—Pall Mall Gazette. “Inspires reader and reviewer with deep gratitude andadmiration.”—Spectator. JOHN SPLENDID.  The Tale of aPoor Gentleman and the Little Wars of Lorne. “A masterly and most interestingnovel.”—Times. “An achievement of rare merit anddistinction.”—Pall Mall Gazette. THE LOST PIBROCH, and otherSheiling Stories. Mr Andrew Lang says: “In‘The Lost Pibroch’ we meet genius as obvious andundeniable as that of Mr Kipling.  Mr Munro’s powersare directed to old Highland life, and he does what genius alonecan do—he makes it alive again, and makes our imaginationshare its life—his knowledge being copious, original, atfirst hand.” CHILDREN OF TEMPEST. “More than a good story.  It is adownright good book, realistic, powerful, and effective,absolutely perfect in its picturing of the simple, sturdy seafolkof Uist and the Outer Isles of the West.”—DailyTelegraph. SHOES OF FORTUNE. “Readable from cover tocover.”—Evening Standard. GILIAN THE DREAMER. “We earnestly hope Mr Munro will give usmore of such things.”—Liverpool Courier.   WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, Edinburgh and London.

The Daft Days

BY
NEIL MUNRO

AUTHOROF
‘JOHN SPLENDID,’ ‘THELOST PIBROCH,’ ETC., ETC.

SHILLING EDITION

WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
MCMIX

All Rights reserved

p. 1CHAPTERI.

The town’s bell rang throughthe dark of the winter morning with queer little jolts andpauses, as if Wanton Wully Oliver, the ringer, had been jovialthe night before.  A blithe New-Year-time bell; a droll,daft, scatter-brained bell; it gave no horrid alarums, no solemnreminders that commonly toll from steeples and make good-fellowsmelancholy to think upon things undone, the brevity of days andyears, the parting of good company, but a cheeryditty—“boom, boom, ding-a-dong boom, boom ding, hic,ding-dong,” infecting whoever heard it with a kind offoolish gaiety.  The burgh town turned on its pillows, drewup its feet from the bed-bottles, last night hot, now turned tochilly stone, rubbed its eyes, and knew by that bell it was thedaftest of the daft days come.  It cast a merry spell on thecommunity; it tickled them even in their cosy beds. “Wanton Wully’s on the ran-dan!” said the folk,and rose quickly, and ran to pull aside screens and blinds tolook out in the dark on window-ledges cushioned deep in

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