Huntingtower

ickson. "You're coming home to your sup

back to t

till the morn's morning. It's very near dark now, and those are two ug

dusky slopes to the gate where the road from the village ended. He walked list

the singing

hand at a lie. "I heard

a girl's vo

e admission. "But I'm thinking

ol," said th

use, some overgrown trees and a couple of ill-favoured servants so malignly affect him? Yet this was the fact; he had strayed out of Arcady into a sphere that filled him with revolt and a nameless fear. Never in his experience had he felt like this, this foolish childish panic which took all the colour and zest out of life. He tried t

ound that he had an appetite for supper. There was new milk, thick with cream, and most of the dainties which had appeared at tea, supplemented by a nobl

lass of milk but w

but I fancy it is next door to Hell. There is something devilish go

row you and me will take the road for Auchenlochan. We needn't trouble

ce. Don't come unless you like, but it's n

table and spread out a section

eyond that the lawns of the house. Strips of plantation with avenues between follow the north and south sides of the park. On the sea side of the House are the stables and what looks like a walled garden, and beyond them what seems to be open ground with an old dovecot marked and the ruins of Huntingtower keep. Beyond that there is more open ground, till you come to the cliffs of the cape. Have you got that?... It looks possible from the contouring to get on to

of reconnoitring, when a hubbub arose in the back ki

nae mair scones till ye paid for the last lot? Ye're a wheen thievin' hungry callants, and if there were a polisman in the place I'd gie ye in chairge.... What's that ye say? Ye're

ly, flung open the door, and with a vigorous pu

was several sizes too big, and was squashed down upon his immense red ears. He wore a very ancient khaki shirt, which had once belonged to a full-grown soldier, and the spacious sleeves were rolled up at the shoulders and tied with string, revealing a pair of skinny arms. Round his middle hung what was meant to be a kilt-a kilt of home manufacture, which may once have been a tablecloth, for its bold pat

of tin cans. Before him stood Dougal, Chieftain of the Gorbals Die-Hards. Suddenly he remembered the philanthropic Mackintosh, and his own subscription of ten pounds to the

all getting on?" And then, with a vague reminiscence of the Scou

ain's brow

s. Yon man Mackintosh tell't me this was going to be a grand holiday. Holiday! G

touch of Irish in it, a spice of music-hall patter, as well as the odd lilt of the Glasgow vernacu

's hear about thi

shut it. "I'm no' wantin' that auld wife to hear," he said. Then he squatted down on the patchwork rug by the hearth, and

itage, roused to a sudden att

ef hidy-hole, and Gosh! I need one, for Lean's aft

se pride showed a rent in his kilt. "If

an?" Heri

coat. The other-the lam

d'you

to them crack

want to shoot at you?" ask

ight. What for? says you. Because they're hidin' a Secret. I knew it as soon as I seen the man Lean's face. I once seen the same kind o' scoondrel at the Picters. When he opened h

t feared?" s

olved to get to the bottom o' the business. Me bein' their Chief, it was my duty to make what they ca' a reckonissince, for t

was staring down at the

uick. Tell me at once." His

keeps the public-Dobson, they ca' him. He's a Namerican, which looks bad. And there's two-three tinklers campin' down in the Garple Dean. They're in it, for Dobson was colloguin' wi' them a' mornin'. When I seen ye, I

l by the shoulder and

y," he cried, "tell

ye h

e, you li

ork entitled Sacred Songs and Solos. "Here! Take that in your right hand and put your left hand on my pole, and say after me, 'I

all havers, but Heritage's docility persu

said He

h-rug, and gathered the eyes of hi

id slowly, "I got

Heritage; "and what

eekin' me, and I sklimmed up a rone pipe, but a' the windies were lockit and I verra near broke my neck. Syne I tried the roof, and a sore sklim

tience was ne

you got in. What did you

of anti-climax in his voice, as of one who had hoped to speak of gold and

wn before him w

them," he

d as the wife here. She didn't lo

the o

ust a

was sh

She is ..." he began. Then a popular song gave him

her, and when she got my meaning she was terrible anxious to ken if I had seen a man-a big man, she said, wi' a yellow beard. She didn't seem to ken his name, or else she wouldn't tell me. The auld wife was mortal feared, and was aye speakin' in a foreign langwidge. I seen at once that what frightened them was Lean

ls Die-Hards and the scoundrels that are frightenin' thae women. The question is, Are ye comin' with me? Mind, ye've sworn. But if ye're no', I'm going

on. "It's no' likely we're coming with you. Breaking

id the Chieftain and

said that

were for a walk up the Garple glen. I'll b

itchen. There was a brief denunciation from Mrs.

while Dickson, acutely uneasy, prowled about th

of heeding that ragamu

ge answered, "and if he can show me a way so much the better.

out burgling houses on the word of a blagyird laddie. I'm a respectable man-aye been. Besi

here are women in trouble. If you like, we'll say good-bye after breakfast, and you can c

y of crude melodrama and possibly of sordid crime. His gorge rose at the picture, but a thought troubled him. Perhaps all romance in

a wise old body and I'd like to hear her opinion

age. "But no amount of commo

d them by returning at t

found and adjusted her spectacles, and waited with hands folded on her lap to hear the business. Dickson narrated their pre-supper doings, and gave a

vity of one in church. When Dicks

folk. What's that ye ca' them-Lean and Spittal? Eppie Home thr

said Dickson impressively, "is whether you

ue. He's a terrible impident

ans have got two lone women shut up

dna w

Christian and law-abiding coun

no' a polisman nearer than Knockraw-yin Johnnie T

on, "would be to turn the Procurator-Fiscal

y but ye're richt

o the House the morn with that red-haired laddie to satisfy himself about the facts. I say no. Let sleeping

train hame the morn, and when I got hame I wad bide there. Ye're a

Heritage asked with hi

coondrel about the place. If ye dinna gang, 'faith I'll kilt my coats and gang mysel'. I havena served the Kennedys for forty year n

the Guthrie Memorial Kirk, and fifty-five years of age. Ay, that was the rub. He was getting old. The woman had seen it and had advised him to go home. Yet the plea was curiously irksome, though it gave him the excuse he needed. If you played at being young, you had to take up the obligations of youth, an

d. Heritage a yard distant appeared also to be sleepless, for the bed creaked with his turning. Dicks