ed the hills of our
own south country.

At last we came to the white house of Gordonstoun, which stands on the
hill above the clachan of Saint John. It was a lodge of my cousin's, and
the keeper of it was a true man, Matthew of the Dub by name. From him we
learned that there were soldiers both at Lochinvar and Earlstoun.
Moreover, the news had come that very day, with the riding post from
Edinburgh, of the wounding of the Duke of Wellwood, and how both of us
were put to the horn and declared outlaw.

I do not think that this affected us much, for almost every man in
Galloway, even those that trooped with Graham and Lag, half a dozen in
all, had been time and again at the horn. One might be at the horn--that
is, outlawed, for forgetting to pay a cess or tax, or for a private
little tulzie that concerned nobody, or for getting one's lum on fire
almost. It was told that once Lauderdale himself was put to the horn in
the matter of a reckoning he had been slack in paying, for Seekin'
Johnnie was ever better at drawing in than paying out.

But to think of my mother being harassed with a garrison, and to know
that rough blades clattered in and out of our bien house of Earlstoun,
pleased me not at all. Yet it was far out of my hap to help it. And I
comforted me with the thought, that it had been as bad as it could be
with us, even before our affray with the Wellwood.

So there was nothing for it, but to turn out our horses to grass at
Gordonstoun and take to the hills like the rest. Matthew of the Dub gave
us to understand that he could put us into a safe hold if we would trust
ourselves to him.

"But it is among the hill-folk o' Balmaghie!" he said, looking
doubtfully at his laird.

"Ah, Gordieston," said Lochinvar, making a wry face, and speaking
reproachfully, "needs must when the devil drives! But what for did you
sign all the papers and take all the oaths against intercommuning, and
yet all the time be having to do with rebels?" For Matthew was a cunning
man, and had taken all the King's oaths as they came along, holding the
parritch and feather beds of Gordieston on the Hill worth any form of
words whatsoever--which indeed could be swallowed down like an
apothecary's bolus, and no more ado about it.

"'Deed, your honour," said Matthew of the Dub, slyly, "it's a wersh
breakfast to streek your neck in a tow, an' I hae sma' stammach for the
Whig's ride to the Grassmarket. But a man canna juist turn informer an'
gie