ast for Gillane, where I'm to find my ship. It'll
be like old days while it lasts, Davie; and (come the time) we'll have
to think what you should be doing. I'm wae to leave ye here, wanting
me."

"Have with ye, then!" says I. "Do ye gang back where you were stopping."

"Deil a fear!" said Alan. "They were good folks to me, but I think they
would be a good deal disappointed if they saw my bonny face again. For
(the way times go) I amna just what ye could call a Walcome Guest. Which
makes me the keener for your company, Mr. David Balfour of the Shaws,
and set ye up! For, leave aside twa cracks here in the wood with Charlie
Stewart, I have scarce said black or white since the day we parted at
Corstorphine."

With which he rose from his place, and we began to move quietly eastward
through the wood.

CHAPTER XII

ON THE MARCH AGAIN WITH ALAN

It was likely between one and two; the moon (as I have said) was down; a
strongish wind, carrying a heavy wrack of cloud, had set in suddenly
from the west; and we began our movement in as black a night as ever a
fugitive or a murderer wanted. The whiteness of the path guided us into
the sleeping town of Broughton, thence through Picardy, and beside my
old acquaintance the gibbet of the two thieves. A little beyond we made
a useful beacon, which was a light in an upper window of Lochend.
Steering by this, but a good deal at random, and with some trampling of
the harvest, and stumbling and falling down upon the bauks, we made our
way across country, and won forth at last upon the linky, boggy muirland
that they call the Figgate Whins. Here, under a bush of whin, we lay
down the remainder of that night and slumbered.

The day called us about five. A beautiful morning it was, the high
westerly wind still blowing strong, but the clouds all blown away to
Europe. Alan was already sitting up and smiling to himself. It was my
first sight of my friend since we were parted, and I looked upon him
with enjoyment. He had still the same big great-coat on his back; but
(what was new) he had now a pair of knitted boot-hose drawn above the
knee. Doubtless these were intended for disguise; but, as the day
promised to be warm, he made a most unseasonable figure.

"Well, Davie," said he, "is this no' a bonny morning? Here is a day that
looks the way that a day ought to. This is a great change of it from the
belly of my haystack; and while you were there sottering and sleeping I
have done