ok at
the end, did you?"

"That I did," replied Gavinia.

"And did she--did he--"

"No," said Gavinia, sorrowfully.

Miss Ailie sighed. "That's what I think too," said Gavinia.

"Why didn't they?" asked the school-mistress.

"Because he was just a sumph," answered Gavinia, scornfully. "If he had
been like Fergus, or like the chield in 'Ivanhoe,' he wouldna have ta'en
a 'no.' He would just have whipped her up in his arms and away wi' her.
That's the kind for me, ma'am."

"There is a fascination about them," murmured Miss Ailie.

"A what?"

But again Miss Ailie came to. "For shame, Gavinia, for shame!" she said,
severely; "these are disgraceful sentiments."

In the meantime Tommy had hurried with the book, not to the manse, but
to a certain garret, and as he read, his imagination went on fire.
Blinder's stories had made him half a Jacobite, and now "Waverley"
revealed to him that he was born neither for the ministry nor the
herding, but to restore to his country its rightful king. The first to
whom he confided this was Corp, who immediately exclaimed: "Michty me!
But what will the police say?"

"I ken a wy," answered Tommy, sternly.

CHAPTER XXI

THE LAST JACOBITE RISING

On the evening of the Queen's birthday, bridies were eaten to her honor
in a hundred Thrums homes, and her health was drunk in toddy, Scotch
toddy and Highland toddy. Patullo, the writer, gave a men's party, and
his sole instructions to his maid were "Keep running back and forrit wi'
the hot water." At the bank there was a ladies' party and ginger wine.
From Cathro's bedroom-window a flag was displayed with _Vivat Regina_ on
it, the sentiment composed by Cathro, the words sewn by the girls of his
McCulloch class. The eight-o'clock bell rang for an hour, and a loyal
crowd had gathered in the square to shout. To a superficial observer,
such as the Baron Bailie or Todd, the new policeman, all seemed well and
fair.

But a very different scene was being enacted at the same time in the
fastnesses of the Den, where three resolute schemers had met by
appointment. Their trysting-place was the Cuttle Well, which is most
easily reached by the pink path made for that purpose; but the better to
further their dark and sinister design, the plotters arrived by three
circuitous routes, one descending the Reekie Broth Pot, a low but
dangerous waterfall, the second daring the perils of the crags, and the
third walking stealthily up the burn.