d over my head into the darkness, evidently expecting
to see someone standing behind me.

"I ken Willie o' Kinmont; but he's a grown man," she said suspiciously,
making as though she would shut the door.

"He's my father," I cried, vainly endeavouring to keep my voice steady,
"and--and--I have a message to carry from him to the Lord of Buccleuch
at Branksome." I would fain have told the whole story, but I knew it was
better to be cautious. I was still no distance from the English Border,
and it would take away the last chance of saving my father's life, were
Sakelde to get to know that word of his doings were like to reach the
Scottish Warden's ears.

"Loshsake, laddie!" exclaimed the old dame in astonishment, setting the
door wide open so that the light might fall full on me, "'tis full
twenty miles tae Branksome, an' it's a bad road ower the hills."

"But I have a pony," I said. "'Tis tied up down the roadway there, and
the moon will rise."

"That it will in an hour or two, but all the same I misdoubt me that
you'll lose your road. What's the matter wi' Kinmont Willie, that he has
tae send a bairn like you his messages? Ye needna' be feared to speak
out," she added as I hesitated; "Kinmont Willie is a friend of mine--at
least, he did my goodman and me a good turn once--and I would like to
pay it back again if I could."

I needed no second bidding; it was such a relief to have someone to
share the burden, and I felt better as soon as I had told her, even
although the telling brought the tears to my eyes.

The old woman listened attentively, and then shook her fist in the
direction which the English had taken.

"He's a fause loon that Sakelde," she said, "and I'd walk to Carlisle
any day to see him hanged. 'Twas he who stole our sheep, two years past
at Martinmas, and 'twas your father brought them back again. But keep up
your heart, my man; if you can get to the Bold Buccleuch he'll put
things right, I'll warrant, and I'll do all I can for you. Go inbye, and
sit down by the fire, and I'll go down the road and fetch the nag.
You'll both be the better for a rest, and a bite o' something to eat,
and when the moon is risen I'll take you up the hill, and show you the
track. My goodman is away at Hawick market, or he would ha'e ridden a
bit of the road wi' ye."

When I was a little fellow, before my mother died, she used to read me
lessons out of her great Bible with the silver clasps, and of all the
stories she r