new how far his neighbour might have been led. A man could only answer
for himself, and even as to that, he had sometimes a difficulty in
explaining himself. One of the firm of lawyers in the High Street might
have been tempted out of his depth. But, at any rate, here was one of
them damaged, and that by the hasty act of one of the sons of the house
of Heathknowes--which in itself was a serious matter.

My grandfather, therefore, judged it well that the lawyers in Dumfries
should be informed of what had befallen as soon as possible. But Mr.
Wringham Pollixfen Poole, if such were his name, was certainly in need
of being watched till my grandfather's return, specially as of necessity
he would be in the same house as Miss Irma and Sir Louis.

None of the young men, therefore, could be spared to carry a message to
Dumfries. My father could not leave his school, and so it came to pass
that I was dispatched to saddle my grandfather's horse. He would ride to
Dumfries with me on a pillion behind him, one hand tucked into the
pocket of his blue coat, while with the other I held the belt about his
waist to make sure. I had to walk up the hills, but that took little of
the pleasure away. Indeed, best of all to me seemed that running hither
and thither like a questing spaniel, in search of all manner of wild
flowers, or the sight of strange, unknown houses lying in wooded
glens--one I mind was Goldielea--which, as all the mead before the door
was one mass of rag-weed (which only grows on the best land), appeared
to me the prettiest and most appropriate name for a house that ever was.

And so think I still.

CHAPTER XX

THE REAL MR. POOLE

So in time we ran to Dumfries. And my grandfather put up at a hostelry
in English Street, where were many other conveyances with their shafts
canted high in the air, the day being Wednesday. He did not wait a
moment even to speak to those who saluted him by name, but betook
himself at once (and I with him) to the lawyers' offices in the High
Street--where it runs downhill just below the Mid Steeple.

Here we found a little knot of people. For, as it turned out (though at
the time we did not know it), Messrs. Smart, Poole and Smart were agents
for half the estates in Dumfriesshire, and our Galloway Marnhoul was
both a far cry and a very small matter to them.

So when we had watched a while the tremors of the ingoers, all eager to
ask favours, and compared them with the chastened dem