e to get some tatties in the nicht; the polisman's
goin' to be watchin' auld Burnfoot's hen-hoose, sae it'll be a grand
chance for some tatties," and the talk drifted on to another subject.

About the eighth week of the strike the news went round the village
that Sanny Robertson and Peter Fleming were "oot at the pit."

"I wad smash every bone in their dirty bodies if I had my way o' it. I
would," said Matthew Maitland, with emphasis. Matthew was always
emphatic in all he said, though seldom so in what he did.

"But we'll ha'e to watch hoo we act," said Andrew Marshall more
cautiously. "It's agin the law, ye ken, to use force."

"I wadna' gi'e a damn," said Peter Pegg, his big eye making frantic
efforts to wink. "I wad see that they blacklegged nae mair."

"Sae wad I," promptly exclaimed half a dozen of the younger men.

"We maun see that they don't do it ony mair."

"Ay, an' I hope we'll mak' sure work that they sleep in for twa-three
mornin's."

"I'll tell ye what," said old Lauder, "let us get a few weemin' and
weans thegither, an' we'll gang doon to the pit an' wait on them comin'
up frae their shift. The bairns can get tin cans an' a stane for a
drumstick, an' we'll ha'e a loonie band. We can sing twa or three o'
thae blackleg sangs o' Tam Donaldson's, an' play them hame."

"That's the plan, Jamie," replied Tam, who had suddenly seen himself
immortalized through his parodies of certain popular songs. "Let us get
as mony women an' callans as possible, and we can mak' a damn'd guid
turnout. We'll sing like linties, an' drum like thunder, an' the
blacklegs'll feel as if they were goin' through Purgatory to the tune
o':"

Tattie Wullie, Tattie Wullie,
Tattie Wullie Shaw,
Where's the sense o' workin', Wullie?--
Faith, ye're lookin' braw.

or

Peter Fleming, Peter Fleming,
Peter, man, I say,
Ye've been workin', ye've been workin',
Ye've been workin' the day.

Peter Fleming, Peter Fleming,
If ye work ony mair,
Peter Fleming, Peter Fleming,
Your heart will be sair.

With little difficulty a band of men, women and children was organized
and proceeded to the pit to await the coming up of the culprits. Hour
after hour they waited patiently, determined not to miss them, and the
time was spent in light jesting and singing ribald songs.

"I wadna' like if my faither was a blackleg," observed Mysie Maitland to
the girl next her.

"No, nor me, either!" quickly agreed the