do a thing--I don't mean me--it had to be gone
through with, even though it cost some odd halfpence. For my father,
keen at a bargain as he was, did not spare his money when once he put
his hand deep into his pocket.

So I pegged it down the road and over the bridge, with the hottest of
the pack at my heels. Somebody must have told them that Elsie had gone
to "the Mount." And if I could find who that person was, I would wring
his neck on the High Street of Breckonside--which would be not a bit
more than he deserves.

"_Death to the Stennises! Death to the murderers!_"

I could hear the shout right at my heels, turning after turning, till
at last I was in the home stretch, and clambering up the steep ascent
to the red brick wall within which stood the house that was my home.
What was my surprise to find all the iron window shutters, which ever
since I could remember had been turned back against the wall (and each
caught there with a screw catch) fitted into the window frames!

My father was on the housetop. I could just see him over the railings,
for it was darkish in spite of the moon.

"Is that you, Joe?" he called out, leaning forward till I thought he
would fall off.

I answered that it was--I and no other.

"Then be off with you round by the stables. All is shut here. One of
the two Robs will let you in!"

He meant Rob Kingsman or Rob McKinstrey. So I tell you I tracked it
about the house and thumped on the gate. There was not much time, you
understand, for the first of the band were already shouting and
gesticulating to my father to give up Elsie Stennis. They meant to
make an end of all the "murdering lot," and of any who sheltered them!
So they said, and by the accent and the taint of whiskey in the air, I
could make out that there were a lot of Irish among them. Now the
Irish that stay at home are very decent people indeed, as I have good
reason to know, but those that come about Breckonside to work at the
quarries and waterworks are the devil and all--if Mr. Ablethorpe and
the vicar will excuse me the expression.

Well, I knocked and I shouted, but never an answer got I.

At last, at the window of the sleeping-room that was Rob Kingsman's, I
saw a white blob which I made out to be the occupant's face.

"Hey, Rob!" I cried; "let me in, Rob. They are after me--at my heels!"

"Reason the mair for you bidin' where ye are," said Rob, whose strong
point was certainly not courage, "if they ha