you observe. Now the House on the south side--the Garple side--is
built fairly close to the edge of the cliffs. Is that all clear in
your head? We can't reconnoitre unless we've got a working notion of
the lie of the land."

Dickson was about to protest that he had no intention of reconnoitring,
when a hubbub arose in the back kitchen. Mrs. Morran's voice was heard
in shrill protest.

"Ye ill laddie! Eh--ye--ill--laddie! (crescendo) Makin' a hash o' my
back door wi' your dirty feet! What are ye slinkin' roond here for,
when I tell't ye this mornin' that I wad sell ye nae mair scones till
ye paid for the last lot? Ye're a wheen thievin' hungry callants, and
if there were a polisman in the place I'd gie ye in chairge.... What's
that ye say? Ye're no' wantin' meat? Ye want to speak to the
gentlemen that's bidin' here? Ye ken the auld ane, says you? I
believe it's a muckle lee, but there's the gentlemen to answer ye
theirsels."

Mrs. Morran, brandishing a dishclout dramatically, flung open the door,
and with a vigorous push propelled into the kitchen a singular figure.

It was a stunted boy, who from his face might have been fifteen years
old, but had the stature of a child of twelve. He had a thatch of
fiery red hair above a pale freckled countenance. His nose was snub,
his eyes a sulky grey-green, and his wide mouth disclosed large and
damaged teeth. But remarkable as was his visage, his clothing was
still stranger. On his head was the regulation Boy Scout hat, but it
was several sizes too big, and was squashed down upon his immense red
ears. He wore a very ancient khaki shirt, which had once belonged to a
full-grown soldier, and the spacious sleeves were rolled up at the
shoulders and tied with string, revealing a pair of skinny arms. Round
his middle hung what was meant to be a kilt--a kilt of home
manufacture, which may once have been a tablecloth, for its bold
pattern suggested no known clan tartan. He had a massive belt, in
which was stuck a broken gully-knife, and round his neck was knotted
the remnant of what had once been a silk bandanna. His legs and feet
were bare, blue, scratched, and very dirty, and this toes had the
prehensile look common to monkeys and small boys who summer and winter
go bootless. In his hand was a long ash-pole, new cut from some coppice.

The apparition stood glum and lowering on the kitchen floor. As Dickson
stared at it he recalled Mearns Street and the band of irr