not very successful, for when the heart is heavy, food goes down but
slowly, and Janet's oatcake and the good ewe cheese, which at other
times I found so toothsome, seemed fairly to stick in my throat, so at
last I gave it up, and, taking the pony by the head, I began to lead him
up the valley.

Although I had been down the Liddle as far as the ford once or twice
before, it had always been in daylight, and my father had been with me;
but I knew that as long as I kept close to the river I was all right for
the first few miles, until the valley narrowed in, and then I must
strike off among the high hills on my left.

It was slow work, for it was too dark to ride, and I dare not leave the
water in case I lost my way, and by the time we had gone mayhap four or
five miles, I had almost lost heart, for I was both tired and cold, and
it seemed to me that half the night at least must be gone, and at this
rate we would never reach Branksome at all.

At last, just when the tears were getting very near my eyes--for I was
but a little chap to be set on such a desperate errand--I struck on a
narrow road which led up a brae to my left, and going along it for a
hundred yards or so, I saw a light which seemed to come from a cottage
window. I stopped and looked at it, wondering if I dare go boldly up and
knock.

In those lawless days one had to be cautious about going up to strange
houses, for one never knew whether one would find a friend or an enemy
within, so I determined to tie my pony to a tree, and steal noiselessly
up to the building, and see what sort of place it was.

I did so, and found that the light came from a tiny thatched cottage
standing by itself, sheltered by some fir trees. There appeared to be no
dogs about, so I crept quite close to the little window, and peered in
through a hole in the shutter. I could see the inside of the room quite
plainly; it was poorly furnished, but beautifully clean. In a corner
opposite the window stood a rough settle, while on a three-legged stool
by the peat fire sat an old woman knitting busily, a collie dog at her
feet.

There could be nothing to fear from her, so I knocked boldly at the
door. The collie flew to the back of it barking furiously, but I heard
the old woman calling him back, and presently she peeped out, asking who
was there.

"'Tis I, Jock Armstrong of Kinmont," I said, "and I fain would be guided
as to the quickest road to Branksome Tower."

The old woman peere