be in good spirits. He began to
sing to a hymn tune a strange ditty.

"Class-conscious we are, and class-conscious wull be Till our fit's on
the neck o' the Boorjoyzee."

"What on earth are you singing?" Dickson inquired.

Dougal grinned. "Wee Jaikie went to a Socialist Sunday School last
winter because he heard they were for fechtin' battles. Ay, and they
telled him he was to join a thing called an International, and Jaikie
thought it was a fitba' club. But when he fund out there was no magic
lantern or swaree at Christmas he gie'd it the chuck. They learned him
a heap o' queer songs. That's one."

"What does the last word mean?"

"I don't ken. Jaikie thought it was some kind of a draigon."

"It's a daft-like thing anyway.... When's high water?"

Dougal answered that to the best of his knowledge it fell between four
and five in the afternoon.

"Then that's when we may expect the foreign gentry if they think to
bring their boat in to the Garplefoot.... Dougal, lad, I trust you to
keep a most careful and prayerful watch. You had better get the
Die-Hards out of the Tower and all round the place afore Dobson and Co.
get loose, or you'll no' get a chance later. Don't lose your mobility,
as the sodgers say. Mr. Heritage can hold the fort, but you laddies
should be spread out like a screen."

"That was my notion," said Dougal. "I'll detail two Die-Hards--Thomas
Yownie and Wee Jaikie--to keep in touch with ye and watch for you
comin' back. Thomas ye ken already; ye'll no fickle Thomas Yownie.
But don't be mistook about Wee Jaikie. He's terrible fond of greetin',
but it's no fright with him but excitement. It's just a habit he's
gotten. When ye see Jaikie begin to greet, you may be sure that
Jaikie's gettin' dangerous."

The door shut behind them and Dickson found himself with his two
charges in a world dim with fog and rain and the still lingering
darkness. The air was raw, and had the sour smell which comes from
soaked earth and wet boughs when the leaves are not yet fledged. Both
the women were miserably equipped for such an expedition. Cousin
Eugenie trailed heavy furs, Saskia's only wrap was a bright-coloured
shawl about her shoulders, and both wore thin foreign shoes. Dickson
insisted on stripping off his trusty waterproof and forcing it on the
Princess, on whose slim body it hung very loose and very short. The
elder woman stumbled and whimpered and needed the constant support of
his arm,