nothing to show," Jock told him, "but there's a difference in
the air. It's warmer in England."

"It's very uninterested of Peter to go on sleeping," Mhor said in a
disgusted tone. "You would think he would feel there was something
happening. And he's a Scots dog, too."

The Border was safely crossed, and Jock professed to notice at once a
striking difference in air and landscape.

"There's an English feel about things now," he insisted, sniffing and
looking all round him; "and I hear the English voices.... Mhor, this is
how the Scots came over to fight the English, only at night and on
horseback--into Carlisle Castle."

"And I was English," said Mhor dreamily, "and I had a big black horse
and I pranced on the Castle wall and killed everyone that came."

"You needn't boast about being English," Jock said, looking at Mhor
coldly. "I don't blame you, for you can't help it, but it's a pity."

Mhor's face got very pink and there was a tremble in his voice, though
he said in a bragging tone, "I'm glad I'm English. The English are as
brave as--as--"

"Of course they are," said Jean, holding Mhor's hand tight under the
rug. She knew how it hurt him to be, even for a moment, at variance with
Jock, his idol. "Mhor has every right to be proud of being English,
Jock. His father was a soldier and he has ancestors who were great
fighting men. And you know very well that it doesn't matter what side
you belong to so long as you are loyal to that side. You two would have
had some great fights if you had lived a few hundred years ago."

"Yes," said Mhor. "I'd have killed a great many Scots--but not Jock."

"Ho," said Jock, "a great many Scots would have killed you first."

"Well, it's all past," said Jean; "and England and Scotland are one and
fight together now. This is Carlisle. Not much romance about it now, is
there? We're going to the Station Hotel for tea, so you will see the
train, Mhor, old man."

"Mhor," said Jock, "that's one thing you would have missed if you'd
lived long ago--trains."

The car had to have a tyre repaired and that took some time, so after
tea the Jardines stood in the station and watched trains for what was,
to Mhor at least, a blissful hour. It was thrilling to stand in the
half-light of the big station and see great trains come in, and the
passengers jump out and tramp about the platform and buy books and
papers from the bookstall, or fruit, or chocolate, or tea and buns from
the boys in unifo