e
without smoke at the chimney or glimmer at the chink. And on that
loch-side, towards the head of it, there were many groups of mean little
hovels, black with smoke and rain, with ragged sloven thatch, the midden
at the very door and the cattle routing within, but no light, no sign of
human occupation.

It was the dawning of the day, a fine day as it proved and propitious to
its close, that we ventured to enter one such hut or bothy at the foot
of another loch that lay before us. Auchinbreac's last order to us had
been to turn wherever we had indication of the enemy's whereabouts, and
to turn in any case by morning. Before we could go back, however, we
must have some sleep and food, so we went into this hut to rest us. It
stood alone in a hollow by a burn at the foot of a very high hill,
and was tenanted by a buxom, well-featured woman with a herd of duddy
children. There was no man about the place; we had the delicacy not to
ask the reason, and she had the caution not to offer any. As we rapped
at her door we put our arms well out of sight below our neutral plaids,
but I daresay our trade was plain enough to the woman when she came out
and gave us the Gael's welcome somewhat grudgingly, with an eye on our
apparel to look for the tartan.

"Housewife," said John M'Iver, blandly, "we're a bit off our way here
by no fault of our own, and we have been on the hillside all night,
and----"

"Come in," she said, shortly, still scrutinising us very closely, till
I felt myself flushing wildly. She gave us the only two stools in her
dwelling, and broke the peats that smouldered on the middle of her
floor. The chamber--a mean and contracted interior--was lit mainly
from the door and the smoke-vent, that gave a narrow glimpse of heaven
through the black _cabar_ and thatch. Round about the woman gathered her
children, clinging at her gown, and their eyes stared large and round in
the gloom at the two of us who came so appallingly into their nest.

We sat for a little with our plaids about us, revelling in the solace of
the hearty fire that sent wafts of odorous reek round the dwelling;
and to our dry rations the woman added whey, that we drank from birch
cogies.

"I am sorry I have no milk just now," she said. "I had a cow till the
day before yesterday; now she's a cow no more, but pith in Colkitto's
heroes."

"They lifted her?" asked John.

"I would not say they lifted her," said the woman, readily, "for who
would be more