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In the narrow space he was crowding his own horse against the right wall so that he might dismount. Mary Hope leaned obediently forward, the reins hanging loose. "He always backs up when he's scared," she panted, when Jamie paid no attention. Instinctively Lance's hand felt for his rope.
A tent had been pitched near at hand, as was evidenced by the still unwithered boughs that had formed a bed, and discarded tent pegs, and there were many axe cuttings. "'Twere white men and not Injuns that camped here," reasoned Jamie. "All the Injun fires I ever heard tell about were made smaller than this un. And these folk were pilin' up stones on the side.
It was spring, after all; and the light reminded Jamie of the South. She was there, and alone. He had tried to save his own good name, and it was all in vain. He might at least do what he could for her. He did not go home, but wandered on, walking. The tide was high, and the west wind blew the waves in froth at his feet.
"Juist fower nichts noo, an' you'll be awa." Even as she spoke seemed to come the last night. The last night! Reserve slipped unheeded to the floor. Hendry wandered ben and but the house, and Jamie sat at the window holding his mother's hand. You must walk softly now if you would cross that humble threshold. I stop at the door.
"A cup of sorrow isn't so bad, Jamie, when there's two to drink it," Anna said. He pressed her hand tighter and replied: "Aye, that's thrue, fur then it's only half a cup." Jamie was a shoemaker's apprentice. His parents were very poor. The struggle for existence left time for nothing else. As the children reached the age of eight or nine they entered the struggle. Jamie began when he was eight.
She gave a loud sob, and bowed her head on her hands a moment. Then, pushing back her grey locks from her face, she rose, struggling for composure. "Aye, aye, Mr. George aye, aye, I'll not keep yer no longer." But as she took his hand, she added passionately: "An I towd the vicar I couldn't be Bible-woman no more. Theer's somethin broken in me sen Jamie died.
Although both have now wound in their reels and unspliced their rods, one of them still lives among us hale and hearty. "Jamie" Shanks of Craigellachie is, perhaps, the father of the water. He himself is reticent as to his age and there are legends on the subject which lack authentication.
John Paul," he shouted heartily, forgetting me, "'tis blythe I am to see yere bonnie face ance mair! "An' wha are ye, Jamie Darrell," said the captain, "to be bangin' yere betters? Dinna ye ken gentry when ye see't?" A puzzled look spread over the smith's grimy face. "Gentry!" says he; "nae gentry that I ken, John Paul. Th' fecht be but a bit o' fun, an' nane o' my seekin'."
As Jamie was trudging through the long grass to the seat which his father had shown him, the Captain said, "Why, Bill does seem scary, after all; who'd have thought this wind would scare him?" "Bill don't like it," replied Jamie; "it blows him too hard." And, glad to be out of the gale, which took his breath away, the little fellow seated himself contentedly in the shelter of the dike.
'Pretty well for your godly young monk, to expect to rob unchecked! laughed Henry. 'He will do well at last, said James. 'Manhood has come on him with a rush, and borne him off his feet; nor would I have him over-tame. 'There spake the Scot! said Henry. 'By my faith, Jamie, we should have had you the worst robber of all had we not caught you young! Well, what am I do for this sprig of royalty?
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