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She fed her and bathed her face, saw to the fire and left her to sleep. "I'm boilin' a hen to mak' broth for your denner, Mem. Try and get a bit sleep now." The purport of the advice was clear, and Cousin Eugenie turned obediently on her pillow. It was Mrs. Morran's custom of a Sunday to spend the morning in devout meditation.
He stood aside and grinned, till Dickson in despair returned his notecase to his pocket, murmuring darkly the "he would send it from Glasgow." The road to Auchenlochan left the main village street at right angles by the side of Mrs. Morran's cottage. It was a better road than that by which they had come yesterday, for by it twice daily the postcart travelled to the post-town.
And if he did there would be his exposed hinder-parts inviting a shot from some malevolent gentleman among the trees. He reflected that he would give a large sum of money to be out of this preposterous adventure. Heritage's hand was stretched towards him, containing two of Mrs. Morran's jellied scones, of which the Poet had been wise enough to bring a supply in his pocket.
Before they came to the Garple bridge Dougal insisted that they should separate, remarking that "it would never do if we were seen thegither." Heritage was despatched by a short cut over fields to the left, which eventually, after one or two plunges into ditches, landed him safely in Mrs. Morran's back yard. Dickson and Dougal crossed the bridge and tramped Dalquharter-wards by the highway.
Morran's as soon as the old body's like to be awake. You can always get at me there, for it's easy to slip into her back kitchen without anybody in the village seeing you.... Yes, I'll do that, and you'll come and report developments to me. And now I'm for a bite and a pipe. It's hungry work travelling the country in the small hours." "I'm going to introjuice ye to the rest o' us," said Dougal.
The Die-Hards faded out of the kitchen like fog-wreaths, and Dickson and Mrs. Morran were left looking at each other. They did not look long. The bare feet of Wee Jaikie had not crossed the threshold fifty seconds, before they were followed by Mrs. Morran's out-of-doors boots and Dickson's tackets. Arm in arm the two hobbled down the back path behind the village which led to the South Lodge.
Awa' wi ye, laddies, and dae something. Awa' you too, Dickson, or I'll tak' the road mysel'." "I've got orders," said the Chief of Staff, "no' to move till the sityation's clear. Napoleon's up at the Tower and Jaikie's in the policies. I maun wait on their reports." For a moment Mrs. Morran's attention was distracted by Dickson, who suddenly felt very faint and sat down heavily on a kitchen chair.
"We're just waiting for breakfast to get on the road again. I'm jolly glad we spent the night here. We found quarters after all, you know." "So I see. Whereabouts, may I ask?" "Mrs. Morran's. We could always have got in there, but we didn't want to fuss an old lady, so we thought we'd try the inn first. She's my friend's aunt."
Ye'll no beat the Gorbals Die-Hards." "You're right, Dougal," said Dickson. "There's just the six of you. If there were a dozen, I think this country would be needing some new kind of a government." The first cocks had just begun to crow and clocks had not yet struck five when Dickson presented himself at Mrs. Morran's back door.
Morran's hen-house, which was Thomas Yownie's POSTE DE COMMANDEMENT. The rain had come on again, and, though in other weather there would have been a slow twilight, already the shadow of night had the world in its grip. The sea even from the high ground was invisible, and all to westward and windward was a ragged screen of dark cloud. It was foul weather for foul deeds.