d rushed so fiercely
along the spouts, that she found it difficult to be sure. There was no
use in changing her clothes only to get them wet again, and it was well
for her that the evening was warm. But at length she was satisfied that
her gaolers were at supper, whereupon she stole out of the house as
quietly as a kitten, and was out of sight of it as quickly. Not a
creature was to be seen. The gutters were all choked and the streets
had become river-beds, already torn with the rush of the ephemeral
torrents. But through it all she dashed fearlessly, bounding on to
Tibbie's cottage.

"Eh, preserve's! sic a nicht, Peter Whaup!" said Peter's wife to Peter
as he sat by the fire with his cutty in his teeth. "It'll be an awfu'
spate."

"Ay will't," rejoined Peter. "There's mair water nor whusky already.
Jist rax doon the bottle, gudewife. It tak's a hantle to quawlifee sic
weet's this. Tak' a drappy yersel', 'oman, to haud it oot."

"Ye hae had plenty, Peter. _I_ dinna want nane. Ye're a true smith,
man: ye hae aye a spark i' yer throat."

"Toots! There never was sic a storm o' water sin' the ark o' the
covenant--"

"Ye mean Noah's ark, Peter, man."

"Weel, weel! onything ye like. It's a' the same, ye ken. I was only
jist remarkin' that we haena sic a fa' o' rain ilka day, an' we sud
jist haud the day in min', pay 't respec' like, keep it wi' a tumler,
ye ken--cummummerate it, as they ca' 't. Rax doon the bottle, lass, and
I'll jist gie a luik oot an' see whether the water's likely to come in
ower the door-sill; for gin it ance crosses the thrashol', I doot there
wonno be whusky eneuch i' the hoose, and bein' the Sawbath nicht, we
canna weel win at ony mair."

Thus entreated, Mistress Whaup got the bottle down. She knew her
husband must have whisky, and, like a wise woman, got him to take as
large a proportion of the immitigable quantity as possible at home.
Peter went to the door to reconnoitre.

"Guid guide 's!" he cried; "there's a lassie run by like a maukin
(hare), wi' a splash at ilka fit like a wauk-mill. An' I do believe it
was Annie Anderson. Will she be rinnin' for the howdie (midwife) to
Mistress Bruce? The cratur'll be droont. I'll jist rin efter her."

"An' be droont yersel, Peter Whaup! She's a wise lass, an' can tak care
o' hersel. Lat ye her rin."

But Peter hesitated.

"The water's bilin'," cried Mrs Whaup.

And Peter hesitated no longer.

Nor indeed could he have overtaken Annie if he had