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"Five laddies, a middle-aged man, and an auld wife," he cried. "Dod, it's pretty hopeless. It's like the thing in the Bible about the weak things of the world trying to confound the strong." "The Bible's whiles richt," Mrs. Morran answered drily. "Come on, for there's no time to lose." The door opened again to admit the figure of Wee Jaikie.
Heritage a yard distant appeared also to be sleepless, for the bed creaked with his turning. Dickson found himself envying one whose troubles, whatever they might be, were not those of a divided mind. Very early the next morning, while Mrs. Morran was still cooking breakfast, Dickson and Heritage might have been observed taking the air in the village street.
His eyes had filled with tears at her news, which we know to have been his habit. When Mrs. Morran, after indulging in a moment of barbaric keening, looked back the road she had come, she saw a small figure trotting up the hill like a terrier who has been left behind. As he trotted he wept bitterly. Jaikie was getting dangerous. HOW MR. McCUNN COMMITTED AN ASSAULT UPON AN ALLY
They've beaten all Dougal's plans, and it's a straight fight with odds of six to one. It's not possible." Mrs. Morran for the first time seemed to lose hope. "Eh, the puir lassie!" she wailed, and sinking on a chair covered her face with her shawl. "Laddies, can you no' think of a plan?" asked Dickson, his voice flat with despair. Then Thomas Yownie spoke.
HOW MR. McCUNN DEPARTED WITH RELIEF AND RETURNED WITH RESOLUTION At seven o'clock on the following morning the post-cart, summoned by an early message from Mrs. Morran, appeared outside the cottage. In it sat the ancient postman, whose real home was Auchenlochan, but who slept alternate nights in Dalquharter, and beside him Dobson the innkeeper.
Morran, like a full-rigged ship, was hustled before it, so that Dickson, who had linked arms with her, was sometimes compelled to trot. "However will you get home, mistress?" he murmured anxiously. "Fine. The wind will fa' at the darkenin'. This'll be a sair time for ships at sea."
He seemed to expect a robust incredulity in his hearer. Mrs. Morran listened with the gravity of one in church. When Dickson finished she seemed to meditate. "There's no blagyird trick that would surprise me in thae new folk. What's that ye ca' them Lean and Spittal? Eppie Home threepit to me they were furriners, and these are no furrin names." "What I want to hear from you, Mrs.
Morran had the lamp lit and a fire burning in her cheerful kitchen. The sight of it somewhat restored Dickson's equanimity, and to his surprise he found 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 noble dish of shimmering "potted-head."
But they never look near the place, and Maister Loudon in Auchenlochan does the factorin'. He's let the public an' filled the twae lodges, and he'll be thinkin' nae doot that he's done eneuch." Mrs. Morran had poured some hot water into the big slop-bowl, and had begun the operation known as "synding out" the cups. It was a hint that the meal was over, and Dickson and Heritage rose from the table.
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.
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